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A Short  Sketch- History 

from  Personal  Reminicences 
of  Early  Days  in 

Central  Texas 

BY 

F.  M CROSS 


THIRD  EDITION 
December,  19 10. 


PREFACE 


Having  been  solicited  by  my  many  friends  to 
■writeups  short  Sketch-History  of  the.  early  set- 
tling of  the  central  part  of  Texas,  I have  decided 
to  give  the  reader  a brief  account,  mostly  from  my 
experiences,  of  the  very  earliest  happenings  in  the 
territory  now  divided  into  the  seven  counties  as 
follows:  Milam,  Bell,  Coryell,  Lampasas,  Hamil- 

ton, Comanche  and  Brown. 

This  little  book  will  give  you  some  idea  of 
the  hardships  the  old  pioneers  had  to  bear  with 
and  the  privations  they  underwent;  it  also  tells 
something  about  the  game  that  was  found  in  the 
country,  and  the  Indians  and  their  depredations. 

As  I never  thought  of  writing  a book  like  this 
until  very  recently  and  am  doing  it  almost  entire1 
ly  from  memory,  I may  possibly  make  a few  mis- 
takes with  regard  to  names  and  dates,  but  should 
any  occur  they  will  be  honest  mistakes  and  will 
make  little  or  no  difference  in  substance. 

Hoping  that  the  following  pages  will  give  gen- 
eral satisfaction  and  prove  of  interest  to  those  who 
may  read  them,  I am, 

Yours  truly 


F.  M.  CROSS. 


A Short  Sketch-History 

Ataining  an  account  of  the  settling  of  that  portion 
Central  Texas  comprising  the  counties  of 
Milam,  Bell,  Coryell,  Lampasas,  Hamilton, 
Comanche  and  Brown. 


MILAM  COUNTY. 

I was  born  in  Pontotoc  County  Mississippi,  in  the 
year  1834.  My  father  moved  to  the  State  of  Mis- 
souri when  I was  but  a child  and  from  there  came 
to  Texas  landing  in  the  town  of  Cameron,  in  the 
fall  of  1846.  Cameron  was  the  county  seat  of  the 
most  western  organized  county  of  that  belt  of  coun- 
try. The  improvements  of  the  town  consisted  of  a 
court  house  made  of  clapboards  a hut  14x16  feet  in 
size;  one  dry  goods  store  kept  by  C.  N.  Huby,  and 
one  grocery  store  run  by  Uncle  Joel  Blair,  who  died 
long  ago  in  the  town  of  Belton.  I would  guess  the 
capital  stock  of  those  two  stores  combined  would 
have  amounted  to  $600,  though  the  supply  was 
sufficient  for  the  population  at  that  time.  The 
population  of  the  town  was  C.  N.  Huby  and  family, 
Joel  Blair  and  family,  and  one  Mr.  Iglebarger  and 
family,  who  lived  in  a log  cabin,  and  as  people  were 
passing  by  that  way  they  got  dinner  with  him,  so 
his  house  was  called  the  hotel.  There  was  a family 
by  the  name  of  Stokes  living  a half  mile  from  the 
store,  who  claimed  citizenship  in  the  town,  and  we 
were  willing  to  recognize  him  as  a city  lad,  for  he 
had  the  only  mill  to  grind  meal  for  us  all  and  every 


man  had  to  do  his  own  grinding.  It  was  a steel 
mill  and  run  by  physical  power. 

Those  four  families,  with  one  Dr.  Flemmin, 
who  was  a bachelor,  constituted  the  popula- 
tion of  the  town  until  our  arrival,  which 
added  four  more  families  to  it,  to-wit:  J.  M. 
Cross  and  family,  T.  J.  Nabors,  wife  and  two 
children,  Uncle  James  Blair  and  family,  and  one 
Mr.  Trotter  and  wife.  This  man  Trotter  put  up  a 
shop  and  went  to  work,  arid  being  a fine  gunsmith, 
was  kept  busy,  as  everybody  had  to  have  firearms 
in  good  condition  in  order  to. protect  themselves 
from  the  red  men. 

When  my  father  landed  in  Cameron  he 
bought  two  lots  and  paid  for  them  with  a 
brace  of  pistols  that  cost  him  $12.50  in  Spring- 
field,  Missouri.  On  one  of  those  lots  he  built  a log 
cabin  in  which  we  lived  during  that  winter  and  the 
spring  of  1847.  A great  many  emigrants  came  into 
this  part  of  the  State  and  located  on  the  Brazos  and 
Little  Rivers,  so  my  father,  desiring  to  go  a little 
farther  to  the  front,  sold  those  two  lots  for  $25, 
thinking  he  was  doing  well  to  double  his  money. 
The  sheltering  in  the  log  cabin  through  the  winter 
paid  for  the  erecting  of  it,  (but  let  me  say  just  here 
that  I was  in  Cameron  about  twenty  years  ago  and 
the  two  lots  with  the  frame  buildings  on  them  were 
worth  three  thousand  dollars.)  We  went  on  up  the 
Little  River  and  stopped  in  what  is  known  now  as 
the  John  L.  Marshall  Valley,  and  there  built  another 
log  cabin  and  planted  a little  corn  crop  on  Knob 
Creek,  near  the  Pilot  Knobs,  and  made  good  corn 


without  any  fence.  We  kept  the  buffalo  run  off 
through  the  day,  there  were  no  other  stock  nearer 
than  the  three  forks  of  Little  River,  and  they  seb 
dom  came  down  there,  so  in  the  fall  this  crop  was 
gathered  and  we  moved  nine  miles  above  the  three 
forks  of  Little  River  and  settled  on  the  Lampasas 
River,  on  what  is  now  known  as  the  old  Shanklin 
Ranch,  about  30  miles  west  of  Cameron,  which  was 
still  under  the  jurisdiction  of  Milam  county. 

I am  just  giving  you  a history  of  the  sparsely 
settled  wild  country,  as  it  was  when  I came  to  it.  As 
to  the  wild  game,  there  were  buffalo,  bear,  deer,  ante- 
lope and  all  kinds  of  smaller  game  from  the  lobo 
wolf  down.  The  rivers  were  full  of  aligators  and 
fish  of  all  kinds.  My  father  bought  aud  settled  four 
places  in  the  country  before  Bell  county  was  or- 
ganized. During  that  time  we  had  a little  school 
one  mile  above  the  three  forks  of  Little  River, 
taught  by  Ed.  Good,  who  has  long  ago  gone  to  his 
reward.  I will  give  the  names  of  all  the  pupils  of 
that  school  so  far  as  I can  recollect,  that  are  still 
living,  to-wit:  W.  B.  Cross,  now  of  Brown  county; 

S.  E.  Wills  of  Bell  county;  Joel  and  W.  B.  Blair,  and 
Mary  Blair  of  Bell  county;  Mary  Blair’s  maiden 
name  was  Roberts,  and  myself.  These  sis  are  all 
that  I can  say  are  now  living.  Though  from  a short 
letter  in  the  Belton  paper,  written  five  or  sis  years 
ago  by  W.  B.  Blair,  giving  all  the  surviving  ones,  I 
think  there  must  be  a few  others,  if  I could  locate 
them. 

When  my  father  settled  on  the  above  named 
ranch,  he  and  Uncle  Jack  Nabors  were  the  extreme 


A rt 

y l 


— 6— 


frontier  settlers  on  the  Lampasas  river.  Below  us, 
on  the  Leon  river,  there  was  a widow  Taylor,  living 
in  what  is  still  called  the  Taylor  Valley.  At  the 
three  forks  of  Little  River  was  Mose  Griffin,  below 
him  was  the  Fulcher  Colony.  Nat  Shields,  Jeff  Reed 
and  wife  and  William  Reed;  they  were  all  in  that 
immediate  settlement.  Just  below  the  Reed  Settle- 
ment were  John  Dunlap,  John  Earley,  and  Uncle 
Bob  Childress,  who  died  near  Temple,  several  years 
ago.  Still  on  down  the  river  was  old  Major  Bryant. 
That  place  was  called  Bryant’s  Fort,  as  it  was  a 
place  of  resort  for  the  above  named  settlers  in  time 
of  Indian  trouble.  On  Dunaho  Creek,  in.  the  south- 
eastern part  of  Bell  county  lived  an  old  man  by  the 
name  of  Wills — his  given  name  has  slipped  my  mem- 
ory. He  was  the  father  of  W.  R.  Wills,  whose 
widow  lives  near  Killeen.  Also  on  this  creek  lived 
Uncle  Billy  Connell,  the  father  of  Geo.  T.  Connell  of 
Brownwood.  17 

Now  as  the  emigration  was  coming  in  so  fast  we 
decided  to  organize  a new  county.  I leave  it  with 
citizens  of  Milam  county  to  figure  up  the  difference 
between  1846  and  1910,  and  hope  that  some  one 
there  may  write  me  at  Blanket,  Texas,  giving  an  esti- 
mate of  the  population  of  your  county  at  the  date 
of  this  book. 

As  to  the  Indian  troubles,  I will  not  say  any- 
thing about  that,  except  when  it  may  be  necessary  to 
speak  of  them  in  some  particular  incident,  as  the 
Wilbarger  History  of  the  Indian  Depredations  in 
Texas  is  so  true  that  no  man  living  can  give  it  more 
correctly. 


BELL  COUNTY. 


After  having  spent  two  years  in  Milam  County 
and  its  territory,  the  emigrants  were  coming  in  so 
fast,  we  thought  it  expedient  to  organize  a new 
county.  It  is  the  above-named  county  we  organized, 
to-wit : Bell  County.  It  was  joined  by  McLennan 

County  on  the  North  and  Williamson  on  the  South. 
These  counties  being  already  organized,  their  of- 
ficials willingly  came  to  our  assistance  in  organizing 
this  new  county.  Uncle  Bill  Reed  was  the  first  sheriff 
of  Bell  County,  and  Billy  Stephens  was  the  first 
magistrate.  George  Richards  first  County  Clerk; 
Stickney,  first  County  Judge ; and  a man  by  the 
name  of  Bailies,  the  first  District  Judge.  The  taxes 
were  assessed  and  collected  by  one  man.  I think 
that  office  was  filled  by  Milt  Dameron.  I was  a 
small  boy  at  that  time,  and  may  have  made  some 
mistakes  in  naming  those  officials,  but  if  so  it  is  an 
honest  mistake.  The  date  of  this  organization  I 
could  not  give  without  seeing  some  of  the  old  re- 
cords. I think  it  was  Sam  Bigham,  who  surveyed 
the  county  lines.  The  Jury  Commission  that  locat- 
ed the  town  of  Belton  was  composed  of  Joe  Denis, 
Melvin  Wilkerson,  James  Blair  and  my  father,  J.  M. 
Cross.  The  first  boards  used  in  covering  a roof  in 
the  town  of  Belton  were  made  by  one  Simon  Odell, 
W.  B.  Cross  and  myself.  Odell  was  a man  my  father 
hired  to  assist  in  improving  his  place.  These  boards 
were  to  cover  a shed  for  the  Widow  Loller,  who  was 
to  board  the  hands  who  erected  the  first  building  in 
Belton. 


— 8— 


The  first  mill  put  up  for  grinding  corn  in 
Bell  County,  was  financed  and  erected  by  my  father 
and  Bob  Childress.  It  was  a little  tub  wheel  water 
mill,  on  the  spring  branch,  where  the  old  Shanklin 
Mill  was  later  built.  I used  to  run  that  little  mill. 
It  would  grind  about  twenty  bushels  of  corn  in  a 
day,  yet  it  was  sufficient  for  the  population  then,  for 
two  days’  run  a week  was  sufficient  for  the  entire 
country  adjacent  to  it.  They  came  as  far  as  thirty 
miles  to  this  mill  for  grinding.  This  place  is  spoken 
of  before  as  the  Shanklin  Ranch,  but  my  father  sold 
it  to  Joel  Blair,  and  it  was  then  called  the  Joel  Blair 
place,  and  while  Blair  lived  there  a man  by  the  name 
of  Supples  put  up  a little  store  on  the  place,  that  was 
four  miles  South  of  Belton,  on  the  Lampasas  River. 
When  the  county  site  was  located,  John  Pain  bought 
Mr.  Supples’  stock  of  goods,  and  moved  the  little 
business  over  to  the  town,  it  was  the  first  store  in  the 
town  of  Belton.  The  next  was  a log  cabin  grocery, 
run  by  Joe  Tounsoll,  the  next  business  addition  to 
the  town  was  a store  put  up  by  a Mr.  McCorkle,  the 
father  of  Dr.  McCorkle,  who  was  killed  at  Killeen 
when  that  place  was  but  a small  village.  In  the 
settling  of  this  country,  I thought  it  was  the  grand- 
est scenery  I had  ever  looked  upon  in  all  my  life. 
Up  to  that  time  it  was  one  vast  open  prairie  country, 
covered  with  green  grass  and  decorated  with  beauti- 
ful floAvers,  and  to  add  to  the  oenefit  of  the  new 
early  settlers  it  was  full  of  game  of  all  kinds,  buffalo, 
deer,  bear,  turkey  and  antelope.  The  streams  were 
full  of  fish  of  all  kinds.  The  first  deer  I killed  was 
three  miles  South  of  where  Belton  now  is.  You  may 


•9— 


imagine  how  great  General  Stonewall  Jackson  felt  at 
the  head  of  his  army,  but  his  greatness  would  have 
sunk  into  insignificance  compared  with  my  own,  con- 
sidering my  feelings  when  I viewed  that  dead  deer. 

Shortly  after  my  father  moved  to  the  territory 
of  Bell  County,  some  men  he  knew  matched  a wild 
race  on  some  fine  horses;  stock  that  had  been 
brought  from  the  Old  States.  I was  a ten 
year-old  boy  at  the  time  and  my  father  being 
somewhat  of  a sportsman,  had  trained  me  to  ride 
races.  I know  this  is  no  credit  to  me,  though  it  is  a 
fact.  The  race  took  place  down  on  Little  River  near 
the  old  Fort  Bryan,  mentioned  previously  in  this 
book.  One  of  the  parties,  Nat  Shields,  asked  my 
father  to  let  me  go  down  and  train  his  horse 
about  three  weeks  and  ride  the  race  for  him.  On  the 
day  the  race  was  run  Captain  Ross  of  Waco  and  his 
little  boy,  Sullivan,  were  there,  also  John  Harmon  of 
Cameron ; each  of  these  men  had  brought  a fine 
horse,  running  stock.  They  were  short-distance 
horses  and  had  a five  hundred  yard  race  to  run  the 
next  week.  Mr.  Harmon  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to 
Cameron  and  ride  the  race  for  him,  which  I did. 
Captain  Ross  came  over  from  Waco  the  day  before 
the  race,  bringing  his  horse  and  his  rider,  Sull  Ross, 
his  boy.  The  race  track  was  one  mile  below  Cam- 
eron on  Little  River  at  what  was  then  called  the 
Monro  Tracks.  On  the  day  of  the  race  everybody 
was  there.  The  people  would  go  as  far  to  a horse- 
race those  days  as  they  will  now  days  to  a show  of 
any  kind  When  we  got  on  the  race  track  the  judges 
were  arranged  at  each  end  of  the  tracks,  and  Sull 


—10— 


Ross  and  myself  mounted  the  horses.  Harmon  had 
hold  of  the  bridle  just  at  this  time,  he  gave  me  a 
dollar  and  said  to  me:  “Tell  that  boy  that  you  will 

bet  him  a dollar  that  you  win  the  race.”  This  he 
did  to  encourage  me  in  putting  the  horse  through 
“Alright,”  I said,  and  held  up  the  dollar,  and  said: 
“Sull,  I will  bet  you  a dollar  I get  there  first.”  By 
the  time  I had  spoken  the  words  Captain  Ross  hand- 
ed his  boy  a dollar.  We  gave  the  money  to  old  Uncle 
Willis  Bruce  to  hold  for  the  winner.  I beat  the  race 
by  twenty-seven  feet.  Here  I can  say  I won  the  dol- 
lar off  of  a boy  who  in  after  years  made  one  of  the 
best  Indian  fighters  Texas  ever  had.  It  was  he,  Sul- 
livan Ross,  that  rescued  Cynthia  Ann  Parker,  a white 
woman  captured  by  the  Indians  at  the  old  Parker 
Fort.  After  the  Civil  War  he  served  the  people  of 
Texas  as  Governor.  Sull  Ross,  as  he  was  always 
called,  was  a good  friend  of  the  writer  and  I am  glad 
to  hear  of  his  honored  life.  He  was  the  president  of 
a High  School  in  East  Texas  when  called  to  his  re- 
ward in  the  great  beyond. 

Finally  we  got  to  where  we  had  to  have  a court 
house,  and  they  built  a clapboard  house,  about  such 
a one  as  the  house  described  in  Cameron.  The  first 
murder  case  tried  in  that  house,  was  Shadrick 
Howard  who  was  charged  with  the  killing  of  one 
Mr.  Lanear.  The  tragedy  occurred  at  or  near  a 
little  mountain  on  the  Lampasas  river,  a few  mile* 
above  where  Young’s  Fort  was  later  located.  After 
being  in  court  about  three  years  the  defendant  was 
acquitted. 


—11— 


The  next  murder  case  was  that  of  Jas.  Stilman, 
eharged  with  killing  one  Mr.  Alexander.  The 
defendant  was  acquitted  after  a jail  life  of  eighteen 
months.  Those  were  all  the  criminal  cases  of  any 
note  that  were  tried  while  I was  a boy. 

Now  my  dear  reader  I will  give  yon  an  idea  of 
the  disadvantages  in  building  a town  in  those  days. 
My  father  and  Joe  Dennis  opened  up  a lumber  yard 
and  had  their  lumber  hauled  from  Bastrop  mills, 
twelve  miles  below  the  town  of  Bastrop,  this  lumber 
was  freighted  on  ox-wagons  and  ye  scribe  drove  one 
of  those  teams.  The  first  trip  was  made  by  W.  B. 
Blair  and  myself.  This  same  W.  B.  Blair  served  Bell 
County  as  its  Treasurer,  for  twenty  years  or  more,  in 
his  later  days.  I made  some  trips  after  lumber  on 
that  lonely  uninhabited  trail  without  any  companion 
except  my  four  yoke  of  oxen  and  an  old  wood  axle 
wagon,  though  the  Indians  were  not  as  hostile  then 
as  in  after  years. 

Now  as  the  people  of  the  old  states  be- 
gan to  emigrate  to  the  new  country,  and  towns  be- 
gan to  grow,  the  government  saw  that  the  Lone  Star 
State  was  determined  to  grow  in  spite  of  all  oppo- 
sition, and  after  defending  ourselves  with  our  own 
State  Rangers  for  so  long  a time,  Uncle  Sam  decided 
to  send  the  old  pioneers  some  protection.  So  the 
government  sent  a line  of  United  States  troops  to 
Texas.  One  company  was  stationed  at  Fort  Graham 
on  the  Brazos  River,  one  on  the  Leon  River  18  miles 
below  where  the  town  of  Gatesville  stands,  and  one 
company  near  the  Colorado  River,  right  where  the 
town  of  Burnet  is  today.  At  that  time,  it  was  called 


—12- 


Fort  Grogan.  The  Camp  on  the  Leon  River  was  call- 
ed Fort  Gates  in  that  day  and  for  a number  of  years 
afterwards.  This  line  of  stations  was  above  all  set- 
tlements at  that  time.  At  this  time  I was  not  yet 
grown,  but  drove  a team  in  company  with  others, 
hauling  forage  from  Little  River  and  Diers  Creek  in 
the  lower  part  of  Bell  County  to  the  soldiers  at  Fort 
Gates.  About  this  time  there  was  a man  by  the  name 
of  0.  T.  Tyler,  who  lived  in  Washington  County  I 
think.  I know  it  was  in  one  of  the  lower  counties. 
He  had  been  up  in  this  country  and  located  a great 
deal  of  land.  When  Bell  and  Coryell  Counties  were 
located,  this  same  0.  T.  Tyler  contracted  with  my 
father  and  Uncle  James  Blair  to  sod  100  acres  of  land 
on  Leon  River,  two  miles  above  old  Fort  Gates,  near 
Leon  Junction.  My  older  brother,  R.  Y.  Cross,  W. 
B.  Cross  and  Joel  Blair  and  myself  were  the  boys 
who  plowed  the  first  furrows  in  Coryell  County, 
though  the  County  was  not  yet  organized.  I will 
state  just  here,  that  after  the  County  began  to  settle 
up,  0.  T.  Tyler  built  a house  on  this  farm,  and  it  was 
in  that  house  that  the  Honorable  George  W.  Tyler 
was  born,  who  has  since  become  one  of  the  leading 
lawyers  of  the  state. 

Now  having  made  mention  of  Senator  Tyler,  who 
was  reared  in  Bell  County,  I will  also  give  you  the 
names  of  the  first  attorneys  who  practiced  at  the  bar 
in  Belton,  to-wit:  X.  B.  Sanders,  one  Mr.  Flint  and 
Captain  Bradford.  All  noble  young  men.  Judge 
Battle,  of  Waco,  was  the  first  District  Attorney.  X. 
B.  Sanders  has  crossed  the  Jordan  of  Death.  Cap- 
tain Bradford  is  yet  in  Belton.  Flint  and  Battle  I 


—13— 


cannot  tell  their  whereabouts,  they  may  be  dead,  but 
will  say  they  were  all  high-toned,  scholarly  gentle- 
men. Flint  and  Sanders  defended  the  first  two  cases 
tried  in  Belton,  which  have  been  spoken  of  before. 

Let  me  give  you  an  idea  of  how  children  were 
reared  to  man  and  womanhood  in  those  days,  and  the 
disadvantages  they  had  to  contend  with.  The  first 
sermon  I ever  heard  in  Texas  was  delivered  by  an 
old  hard-shell  Baptist  by  the  name  of  Wheat,  who 
has  a great  number  of  offspring  yet  living  in  Bell 
County.  This  discourse  was  delivered  at  my  father’s 
house,  at  night.  I will  never  forget  that  sermon, 
there  was  an  old  lady  there  by  the  name  of  Perkins, 
who  was  a Methodist,  and  I being  a small  boy,  was 
sitting  close  to  the  old  lady.  When  the  good  brother 
got  into  an  old-fashioned  exhortation,  the  old  lady 
sprang  up  slaping  her  hands  and  shouting  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  I tell  you  reader  it  just  simply  scared  all 
the  fool  out  of  me.  I had  never  heard  anything  like 
it  in  all  my  life.  At  that  time  society  as  it  is  in  this 
day  was  a stranger  in  that  new  country,  but  the  few 
setlers  of  the  new  country  began  to  build  up  society, 
and  set  to  work  to  build  a clap-board  school  house 
where  the  little  store  was ; this,  as  before  mentioned 
tioned  was  later  moved  to  Belton.  In  this  house  we 
organized  a Sunday  School  and  soon  secured  a local 
preacher  by  the  name  of  Cook  to  come  and  preach 
once  a month.  He  was  a Methodist.  Then  every- 
thing for  the  betterment  of  society  seemed  to  be 
coming  our  way.  This  was  the  second  school  house 
built  in  the  country.  The  next  thing  in  order  was  a 
singing  school.  We  engaged  a man  by  the  name  of 


14r — 


Elliott  to  teach  the  school.  It  was  taught  by  the 
old  four-note  system.  After  this  we  had  a literary 
school  taught  by  one  Mr.  Stickney.  I say  Mr.  be- 
cause the  word  professor  had  not  been  attached  in 
that  day.  This  man  has  been  spoken  of  before,  as 
the  first  County  Judge.  After  his  school  was  out, 
he  got  up  a writing  school  at  the  same  place.  Now 
we  began  to  think  we  were  getting  up  into  the  pic- 
tures, and  gaining  fast  in  refinement,  and  while  I 
was  only  a wild,  rattling  boy,  I enjoyed  the  rapid 
progress  of  society.  We  soon  became  strong  enough 
to  organize  a Methodist  Conference.  Our  First  Cir- 
cuit Eider  was  one  Rev.  James  Fergison,  who  died 
long  ago  in  the  town  of  Salado.  The  first  presiding 
Elder  was  Rev.  Louis  Whipple. 

As  the  country  was  settling  up  so  fast,  it  be 
came  expedient  for  the  soldiers  to  be  moved  farther 
west  of  the  line  of  stations  already  spoken  of.  1 
think  it  was  in  the  year  of  1850  that  they  were  sta- 
tioned on  a line  across  the  state  from  Red  River  to 
the  Rio  Grande.  That  line  was  called  the  overland 
mail  road  for  a long  time.  At  the  time  that  line 
was  established,  I was  about  18  years  old,  and  start- 
ing out  to  do  for  myself,  got  employment  with  Mc- 
Coy & Dalrymple,  who  had  a contract  with  the  gov- 
ernment to  furnish  supplies  for  the  soldiers  on  that 
line.  We  left  the  farm  of  Dalrymple  near  what  is 
now  known  as  the  Leon  Junction,  with  teams  and 
wagons  loaded  with  shelled  corn,  ranging  from  one 
hundred  to  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  bushels  to 
the  wagon,  each  wagon  drawn  by  sis  yoke  of  oxen, 
thus  we  opened  up  what  is  yet  called  the  old  Phan- 


-15- 


tom  Hill  road.  Phantom  Hill  is  on  the  Clear  Pork 
of  the  Brazos  River.  It  took  just  one  month  to  make 
the  round  trip  to  Fort  Phantom  Hill  or  Fort  Chad- 
born.  Ft.  Chadborn  was  the  next  station  on  the  line 
south  and  Fort  Belknap  was  north  of  Phantom  Hill. 
We  ran  this  train  of  wagons  to  all  three  of  these 
forts,  following  this  old  Phantom  Hill  trail,  until  we 
reached  the  Little  Pecan  Creek  in  the  upper  Cross 
Timbers,  wdtere  we  turned  to  the  left  for  Chadborn. 
All  the  small  creeks  that  afforded  water  enough  for 
camping  we  honored  with  names.  The  Texas  map 
has  honored  every  name  we  gave  except  one.  After 
leaving  the  Tyler  and  Dalrymple  farms,  the  first 
creek  we  called  Shale  Creek.  The  second,  a little 
creek  which  emptied  into  the  Leon  River  near  Straws 
Mill,  we  called  Turnover,  from  the  fact  that  one 
of  our  wagons  was  turned  over  there.  And  the 
Texas  map  has  honored  those  two  names.  The  next 
watering  place  a man  by  the  name  of  Lewis  turned 
his  wagon  over,  so  to  make  a distinction  between  the 
places  we  called  this  place  Lewis  Turnover, 
but  it  changed  afterwards  to  Blue  Creek.  So 
on  we  went  up  the  divide,  between  the  Leon  River 
and  the  Cowhouse,  keeping  on  the  Leon  side  of  the  di- 
vide in  order  to  get  water  from  its  tributaries.  The 
next  watering  place  was  a creek  running  into  Leon 
about  15  miles  above  Gatesville,  this  was  a regular 
camping  place  going  and  coming  on  every  trip.  On 
this  stream  was  the  finest  grass  I ever  had  seen.  It 
was  a sight  to  see  our  teams  grazing  in  those  valleys. 
Think  of  it,  six  yoke  of  oxen  to  the  wagon : — one 
hundred  and  twenty  head  of  steers  all  grazing  in  a 


-16- 


bun  eh.  This  creek  was  called  Honey  Creek.  The 
next  watering  place  was  a branch  heading  about  10 
miles  South  of  Hamilton,  from  here  we  took  the  high 
divide  and  while  our  road  was  straight  the  crook  of 
the  river  threw  us  to  camp  next  night  on  the  head 
water  of  a little  stream  that  emptied  into  the  Cow- 
house. This  was  called  Little  Cowhouse,  which  name 
it  holds  to  this  day.  That  camping  place  was  about 
3 miles  below  the  Hoover  Mountains.  Those  moun- 
tains took  their  name  from  the  fact  that  Hoover  and 
his  wife  had  a fight  with  a squad  of  Indians.  About 
ten  or  twelve  Indians  charged  upon  them,  the  wife 
was  thrown  from  her  horse,  and  Hoover  was  wound- 
ed early  in  the  fight  and  both  of  them  would  have 
been  killed,  had  it  not  been  for  some  cow-boys  who, 
hearing  the  shooting,  ran  to  their  relief, — but  back 
to  our  trail. 

On  leaving  Little  Cow-house  Creek,  we 
went  right  between  those  two  Hoover  Mountains. 
The  next  watering  place  was  called  Warner  Creek. 
This  is  in  the  upper  edge  of  Hamilton  County.  We 
were  then  traveling  several  degrees  north  of  what 
we  had  been.  The  next  day  we  reached  South  Leon, 
and  crossed  it  about  two  miles  below  where  Fleming 
now  is,  about  twelve  miles  below  where  the  town  of 
Comanche  stands  today.  The  next  day  we  reached 
a small  branch  which  we  called  Indian  Creek.  It 
empties  into  the  main  creek  right  at  Comanche.  This 
place,  one  mile  southwest  of  the  town  of  Comanche, 
was  a camping  place  going  and  coming.  The  next 
water  was  a little  stream,  we  called  Sweet  Water;  it 
is  now  called  Gidson  Creek.  Our  camping  place 


—17— 

there  was  in  the  edge  of  a town  now  called  Sidney, 
but  at  that  time  there  was  not  a house  but  only  an 
open  country,  post  oak  timber,  and  fine  mesquite 
grass.  You  could  see  a deer  feeding  five  or  six  hun- 
dred yards  off.  While  the  oak  timber  was  thick 
there  was  no  underbrush.  This  was  also  a regular 
camping  place  in  passing  either  way  as  long  as  that 
road  was  traveled.  After  leaving  this  place  our 
next  camping  place  was  twenty  miles,  which  was  the 
longest  drive  made  on  the  trip,  from  Fort  Gates  to 
Fort  Phantom  Hill.  This  camping  place  was  in  a 
flat  post  oak  woods.  There  was  a wide  flat  branch 
out  on  that  high  divide.  It  had  channel  sufficient 
for  a large  creek,  being  a rock  bed  which  had  holes 
in  the  rock;  we  herded  our  steers  along  the  bed  of 
this  branch  until  we  got  water  enough  for  them. 
This  we  called  Deer  River.  I never  saw  as  many 
deer  in  my  life,  in  any  country.  All  game  for  ten 
miles  around  had  to  get  water  at  this  place.  After 
leaving  Deer  River  our  next  camping  place  was  on 
Little  Pecan  Creek.  Here  the  roads  forked,  one  run- 
ning to  Chadborn,  the  other  to  Phantom  Hill.  The 
rest  of  the  camping  places  on  the  Phantom  Hill  road, 
were  little  holes  of  water  in  prairie  branches.  It 
was  all  a broken  country  and  only  a few  days’  drive 
across  it.  Most  of  our  forage  went  to  Fort  Chad- 
born,  and  the  route  to  that  fort  turned  to  the  left  at 
Pecan  Creek.  The  best  camping  place  was  on  the 
Pecan  Bayou  about  35  miles  above  Brownwood.  The 
next  camping  place  was  on  a little  branch  heading 
up  against  the  mountains  just  above  what  is  called 
Tecumpey  Peak;  this  stream  had  no  name.  From 


—18 — 


there  we  went  to  Elm  Creek.  That  place  was  a regu- 
lar camping  place.  From  here  we  went  to  Valley 
Creek,  which  was  the  last  camping  place  on  the  trail. 
The  next  day  we  reached  Fort  Chadborn,  unloaded 
and  got  back  to  Valley  Creek.  On  this  Creek  Mc- 
Coy & Gooch,  (Dalrymple  & McCoy  having  dissolv- 
ed partnership;  Dalrymple  went  to  Georgetown  in 
Williamson  County,  and  A.  J.  McCoy  took  Gooch  in 
as  a partner,)  continued  to  furnish  the  government 
with  supplies,  and  I stayed  with  them  on  the  ranch 
above  mentioned,  on  Valley  Creek.  This  branch  is 
six  miles  from  Fort  Chadborn.  The  Fort  is  located 
on  Oak  Creek. 

I worked  on  this  ranch  until  I was  twenty- 
one  years  old,  and  while  there  enjoyed  life  better 
than  any  three  years  of  my  life.  Twice  a week  I 
had  to  kill  and  deliver  a beef  at  the  Fort,  and  the 
rest  of  my  time  I was  on  my  horse  riding  over  the 
prairies,  watching  the  beef  herd  and  running  wolves. 
I was  out  one  morning  getting  up  the  work  steers, 
and  had  another  boy  with  me  by  the  name  of  J.  L. 
Britton,  who  some  fifteen  years  later,  was  Sheriff  of 
Williamson  county,  when  we  came  upon  a wild  tur- 
key gobbler,  very  fat,  and  set  in  to  catch  him  on 
horseback.  I had  never  thought  of  trying  to  catch 
anything  that  could  fly  before  this  time.  We  took 
after  him,  and  when  we  began  to  crowd  upon  him 
he  rose  and  flew  about  three  hundred  yards,  and 
when  he  hit  the  ground  could  never  rise  again,  and 
we  ran  upon  him  and  picked  him  up  in  a few  min- 
utes. After  that  we  would  often  come  upon  a bunch 
of  turkeys  and  put  in  after  them  and  when  they  got 


— 1 9 — 


tired  and  hit  the  ground  we  could  drive  them  into  a 
pen  like  cattle  or  sheep.  While  out  on  that  ranch 
we  had  great  sport  killing  wolves,  by  getting  out 
about  fifty  yards  from  the  house  and  making  a blind 
with  two  dry  beef  hides.  When  we  had  killed  a beef 
we  would  take  the  head  and  stake  it  down  behind 
the  hides,  and  set  on  the  other  side  of  the  hides  and 
while  the  wolves  were  eating  on  the  head  we  could 
shoot  them.  It  could  only  be  done  by  moonlight. 
Now,  this  wolf  killing  story  may  sound  a little  bit 
fishy,  but  there  is  living  in  Comanche  today,  a man 
nomed  D.  P.  Pinkard,  who  was  a small  boy  at  that 
time,  who  will  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  story. 

The  first  two  years  on  that  ranch  we 
had  an  old  yellow  negro  woman  to  cook 
and  wash  for  the  hands.  I thought  she  was  the  best 
cook  I ever  had  seen.  She  would  often  bake  a lot 
of  sweet  cakes  and  put  them  away  and  at  meal  time 
set  a little  pan  full  on  the  table,  though  I would 
sometimes  come  in  between  meals,  and  if  she  was  out 
after  wood  or  water  would  fill  my  pockets  with  those 
cakes.  So  you  see  I was  having  a good  time  for  a 
boy.  The  old  girl  discovered  that  someone  was 
making  away  with  her  cakes,  and  thought  she  would 
hide  them  from  the  thief.  She  had  an  idea  it  was 
me  and  it  was  not  a bad  idea  either.  At  one  time  a 
young  doctor  named  Owens  was  up  at  the  ranch  on 
a visit  from  his  home  at  Georgetown.  He  and  I 
were  down  on  the  creek  fishing  one  day,  and  while 
we  were  out  the  old  darkey  cooked  up  a lot  of  cakes 
and  hid  them  as  she  thought  where  no  one  could 
find  them,  when  we  came  in,  the  old  girl  was  down 


—20— 


at  the  creek  washing,  and  we  began  a hunt  for  the 
cakes.  The  house  was  made  of  pickets  14x35  feet 
and  covered  with  ducking  and  had  pole  rafters.  Dr. 
Owens  began  to  look  in  every  box  and  trunk  for  the 
cakes.  After  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
could  not  find  the  cakes,  he  looked  over  and  said  to 
me,  “Cross,  what  are  you  doing  sitting  back  there 
and  not  helping  to  hunt  for  them  cakes,”  and  I told 
him  I had  found  them.  He  said:  “How  have  you 

found  anything  sitting  there  in  that  chair?”  I told 
him  I used  to  find  honey  sitting  on  the  ground  and 
watching  the  bees,  and  told  him  if  he  would  look  up 
at  that  sack  tied  to  the  rafter,  with  the  house- 
flies swarming  about  it.  he  might  find  the  cakes  were 
there ; he  did  so,  and  we  got  them  down  and  fill- 
ed our  shot-pouches  full  of  cakes  and  lit  out  for  the 
evening.  That  night  the  old  cook  told  us  if  we  would 
let  her  cakes  alone  she  would  give  us  a pocket  full 
every  day,  and  we  compromised  with  her  on  her  own 
terms. 

About  the  time  my  father  moved  to  Texas,  there 
was  a man  by  the  name  of  Nabors,  employed  by  the 
government  to  officiate  in  a treaty  of  peace  with  the 
Southern  Comanche  Indians,  this  treaty  had  the  ef- 
fect of  a friendly  feeling  for  several  years.  They 
took  the  chief  of  the  tribe  to  Washington  City,  and 
while  there  gave  him  a photo  of  the  President.  This 
chief’s  name  was  Santa  Anna,  and  while  I was  on 
Valley  Creek  ranch,  Colonel  Gooch  and  I were  out 
hunting  one  evening,  and  found  his  grave,  we  knew 
it  by  the  photo.  While  this  treaty  was  being  made 
the  government  was  feeding  the  Indians  and  they 


21— 


would  come  in  bunches  of  from  fifty  to  a hundred  at 
a time,  and  camp  at  our  ranch.  They  often  had  an 
order  from  the  quartermaster  for  a beef,  so  all  I had 
to  do  was  to  shoot  it  down  and  they  would  divide  it 
up  among  themselves.  There  was  an  old  squaw  with 
them  whom  they  said  was  the  wife  of  the  great 
Chief  Santa  Anna,  the  old  Indian  that  Gooch  and 
myself  found  the  grave  of.  This  old  squaw  and  her 
squad  of  some  fifty  Indians  would  visit  that  grave 
every  six  months,  and  just  here  I can  say  that  I 
saved  the  massacre  of  our  boys  on  that  ranch,  by 
knowing  the  wife  of  that  great  chief.  They  had 
been  at  my  father’s  house  in  Bell  Comity  before  the 
County  had  ten  families  in  it,  and  my  mother  gave 
them  a good  dinner,  so  the  old  woman  thought  a 
great  deal  of  me.  When  they  found  that  the 
grave  of  her  husband  was  destroyed,  they  became 
hostile  about  it,  and  went  to  the  Fort  and  made  com- 
plaint about  it  to  the  commanding  officer;  he  sent 
a white  man  who  was  employed  as  interpreter  to  in- 
vestigate the  matter,  and  the  whole  squad  of  Indians 
came  with  him.  I saw  that  the  Indians  were  excit- 
ed. The  white  man  came  up  to  me,  and  told  me 
what  the  trouble  was.  I informed  him  that  I was 
one  of  the  party  that  found  the  grave,  and  that  we 
had  put  everything  back  just  as  we  had  found  it. 
Though  after  it  was  known  that  the  Great  Chief  of 
the  Comanche  tribe  was  buried  there,  the  officers  and 
their  families  came  out,  and  took  off  some  of  the 
silver  plates  from  his  regalia,  and  sent  them  back  to 
their  friends  in  the  old  country.  So  the  interpreter 
told  them  what  I said  about  it.  The  wife  of  the 


—22— 


buried  chief  told  the  squad  of  Indians  that  all  was 
right,  so  I found  that  my  father’s  kind  treatment  to 
those  Indians  ten  years  before  had  served  as  a shield 
to  us,  even  after  so  long  a time,  and  fulfilled  scrip- 
ture, that  bread  cast  upon  the  water  may  be  gathered 
up  many  days  hence. 

While  I was  employed  on  this  ranch,  I wa* 
often  sent  down  into  the  settlements  after  beef 
cattle  to  butcher  for  the  soldiers.  I usually 
went  down  alone,  and  brought  up  the  cattle, 
then  hired  a hand  to  help  drive  them  back.  I gen- 
erally rode  a good  horse,  and  carried  two  six-shot 
pistols,  one  a navy  siege,  which  I belted  around  me, 
and  the  other  a dragoon  siege  that  I hung  on  the 
horn  of  my  saddle.  In  those  days  I could  run  almost 
as  fast  as  any  saddle-horse.  I had  my  provisions 
fixed  up  and  got  all  in  shape  for  an  early  morning 
start  on  one  of  these  trips,  when  just  before  sun- 
down, a posse  of  Indians  came  and  camped  in  the 
valley  near  by.  I knew  if  I waited  until  morning 
and  they  saw  me  leave  alone  some  of  them  might  fol- 
low me  up  and  try  to  get  the  mule  I was  riding,  so  I 
left  that  night  about  10  o’clock,  and  rode  about  18 
or  20  miles  and  lay  down  to  sleep  until  day.  When 
I reached  Deer  River,  mentioned  before  as  a camp- 
ing place,  about  9 o’clock  the  next  night,  I made  my 
coffee  and  broiled  some  meat  and  proceeded  to  take 
a lunch,  then  after  spreading  my  blankets  prepara- 
tory to  taking  a nap,  gave  the  mule  a little  corn  on 
my  saddle  blanket.  I had  him  tied  the  full  length  of 
my  stake  rope  so  he  could  graze  within  6 or  8 feet  of 
where  I was  lying.  The  moon  had  just  risen  and  it 


-23 — • 


was  a little  cloudy,  which  made  the  moonlight  flicker, 
the  mule  discovered  an  object  about  thirty  steps  off 
and  gave  a snort,  walking  back  the  length  of  his 
rope,  looked  right  over  where  I was  lying,  and  quit 
eating  his  corn,  would  walk  back  and  forth,  snort- 
ing every  time  he  got  to  the  end  of  his  rope.  Having 
seen  a smoke  that  evening  just  before  simset,  a few 
miles  from  the  road,  I thought  it  might  be  Indians 
following  me  up  to  try  to  get  my  mule,  and  I turned 
over  on  my  pallet  to  spy  out  for  them,  fearing  to  get 
up,  which  would  give  them  a goot.  shot  at  me.  When 
I turned  ovet  and  looked  in  the  direction  the  mule 
was  looking,  I saw  the  object  that  was  scaring  the 
mule,  and  was  very  sure  it  was  an  Indian ; was  sure 
I could  see  his  bow  and  quiver  hanging  over  his 
shoulder.  I thought  as  his  bow  was  not  strung  and 
in  a position  for  action,  I would  just  lay  still  and 
watch  him  until  he  came  close  enough  that  I could 
make  a sure  shot.  I had  always  had  a desire  to  kill 
an  Indian,  but  just  at  this  time  I did  not  feel  so  much 
of  the  former  bravery  as  I did  when  there  was  none 
in  sight  There  I lay  and  watched  that  object  for  at 
least  40  minutes  The  mule  was  still,  snorting  and 
would  not  eat  a bite.  Then  I thought  I would  decide 
this  thing  at  once.  I could  not  go  to  sleep  with  that 
mule  snorting  and  the  hair  on  my  head  standing  as 
straight  as  a porcupine’s  quills.  So  I got  up,  with 
my  army  siege  six-shooter  in  my  right  hand  and  the 
navy  in  the  left,  and  my  hair  standing  straight  up, 
and  walked  up  to  the  object  and  punched  it  with  my 
six-shooter.  I was  much  surprised,  and  very  agree- 
ably so,  to  find  that  it  was  a post  oak  stump  from 


—24— 


which  Jack  Loller  and  myself  had  cut  the  tree  off 
about  three  feet  from  the  ground,  the  winter  before, 
for  camping  wood. 

While  I was  staying  on  this  ranch,  the  proprie- 
tors, McCoy  and  Gooch,  employed  old  father  Watson, 
who  died  about  12  years  ago,  6 miles  below  the  town 
of  Comanche,  to  come  out  and  look  after  the  ranch 
where  we  kept  our  cattle,  and  while  he  was  up  there 
his  oldest  daughter  and  I got  to  be  lovers,  and  finally 
entered  into  a marriage  contract.  I knew  a wild 
country  life  would  not  suit  me  after  marriage,  and 
as  her  father  told  me  that  he  was  going  to  move  to 
the  settlements  the  next  fall,  I concluded  I would 
move  there  also.  I procured  a one-horse  buggy  and 
taking  my  girl,  we  set  out.  The  first  house  on  our 
route  was  the  home  of  one  Jesse  Mercer,  on  what  is 
called  Mercer’s  Creek,  about  8 miles  South  of  where 
Comanche  town  is  now  located.  As  there  were  about 
8 or  10  families  living  up  in  that  country  it  was  call- 
ed Mercer’s  Colony.  Mr.  Mercer  and  Dr.  Tuggle  be- 
ing the  first  families  settling  there.  So  my  intended 
and  self  stopped  with  Mr.  Mercer  for  the  night,  and 
the  family  arranged  for  a wedding,  while  I went 
about  one  and  a half  miles  after  a preacher,  and  I 
got  George  W.  Montgomery,  a Christian  preacher,  to 
officiate  at  the  ceremony  for  us.  This  was  the  first 
marriage  pulled  off  in  what  is  now  known  as  Coman- 
che County.  It  may  seem  a little  strange  to  you,  but 
only  three  days  after  we  were  married  at  Mercer’s 
that  night,  we  were  the  first  couple  married  in  Cor- 
yell County.  It  occurred  this  way:  It  wras  the  cus- 

tom in  this  new  and  unorganized  country  for  a minis- 


—25— 


> ter  to  perform  the  rights  of  matrimony  and  give  a 
certificate  to  the  parties,  which  would  be  recorded 
the  same  as  a regular  license.  The  minister  gave  me 
the  certificate  in  this  instance,  and  when  we  reached 
Gatesville  the  county  had  just  been  organized,  and 
the  County  Clerk,  a young  man  and  a very  wise 
young  fellow,  who  knew  vei'y  little  law,  was  afraid 
to  make  a record  of  the  matter,  so  I just  had  him  is- 
sue a license  and  we  were  married  again  in  Gates- 
ville. So  I was  the  first  man  married  in  Comanche 
County,  also  the  first  in  Coryell  County.  From  here 
we  went  to  Bell  County. 

While  I was  out  on  the  frontier  at  the  old  fort 
before  mentioned,  about  three  years,  Bell  County 
had  settled  up  a great  deal.  The  town  of  Belton  had 
become  quite  a village  of  some  ten  or  fifteen  business 
houses.  Right  here  I will  give  you  a little  joke  on 
myself : When  the  first  little  store  was  put  up  in 

Belton,  it  being  the  one  that  as  before  stated  was 
moved  from  the  Joel  Blair  place  by  John  Pain,  the 
postoffice  was  kept  in  that  store,  with  Mr.  Pain  as 
postmaster.  In  those  days  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  a postage  stamp  and  all  letters  were  addressed  to 
the  place  it  was  to  go,  and  the  addressee  paid  5 cents 
for  his  letter  when  he  got  it.  My  father  sent  me  one 
day  to  Belton  to  mail  a letter,  and  when  I got  there 
I just  walked  in  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Pain,  telling 
him  here  w7as  a letter  I wanted  mailed,  he  told  me  to 
step  out  of  doors  and  put  it  in  the  box.  I stepped 
out  at  the  door,  supposing  I would  find  a little  box 
nailed  up  against  the  wall  of  the  house,  but  could  not 
see  any  box,  I just  walked  around  to  the  back  end 


26— 


and  there  found  a little  pine  box  that  looked  like  it 
had  been  used  for  carrying  lime  in.  I did  not  think 
it  was  the  proper  place  to  put  the  letter  in.  but  was 
determined  not  to  let  anyone  know  that  I was  so 
green.  I could  not  think  of  asking  where  the  letter 
box  was.  so  just  dropped  it  in  that  little  box.  Then 
the  thought  came  to  me,  that  if  it  should  rain  before 
the  mail  was  sent  off  the  letter  would  be  ruined,  and 
to  prevent  this  I turned  the  box  over  the  letter  and 
pulled  out  for  home.  But  I felt  sure  that  that  letter 
was  not  at  the  right  place,  and  was  uneasy,  day  and 
night.  It.  was  on  my  mind,  yet  I would  not  tell  any- 
one. About  ten  days  later,  my  father  sent  me  to  the 
store  again  for  some  groceries,  and  while  there  in  the 
store,  a man  came  in.  just,  like  I had  done,  and  offered 
Mr.  Pain  a letter  to  mail,  he  instructed  him  just  as 
he  had  me,  ten  days  before.  “Step  out  doors  and 
put  it  in  the  box.’’  You  know  I watched  that  fellow 
like  a hawk  would  a chicken,  he  stepped  out  and 
asked  a man  that  was  standing  in  the  yard,  where 
the  letter  box  was,  the  man  pointed  to  a little  hole  in 
the  wall,  and  told  him  to  slip  his  letter  in  there. 
That  the  box  was  in  the  house  but  the  letter  would 
drop  in  it.  You  bet  I felt  good  to  know  that  there 
was  some  one  as  green  as  I was.  You  may  guess  I 
kept  my  eye  on  that  little  hole  until  those  men  went 
into  the  house,  and  then  I slipped  around  to  the 
little  lime  box  where  I left  my  letter  and  found  it  all 
right  although  it  had  been  there  ten  days.  I took  it 
and  slipped  it  in  the  little  hole  in  the  wall.  From 
that  day  to  this,  I have  known  what  a letter  box  is. 


—27— 


I will  now  give  you  some  idea  of  the  value  of  the 
unimproved  land  of  Bell  County,  sixty  years  ago. 
The  most  of  the  land  at  the  first  settling  was  vacant. 
A man  with  a family  could  pre-empt  640  acres,  while 
a single  man  could  take  up  320  acres,  but  there  had 
been  parties  through  this  country  and  located  a con- 
siderable amount  of  land,  surveys  that  were  called 
leagues  and  labores  Those  lands  were  cut  up  and 
sold  in  small  tracts  to  the  early  settlers  at  50  cents  to 
one  dollar  per  acre.  I have  seen  as  good  land  as 
there  is  in  Bell  County,  sell  for  one  dollar  per  acre, 
and  to  say  the  least  of  it,  Bell  County  is  one  of  the 
best  counties  in  the  great  State  of  Texas  for  farming 
and  I expect  today  it  is  one  of  the  wealthiest  in  the 
State.  A number  of  men  purchased  land  while  it 
was  so  cheap,  that  in  15  years  it  made  them  inde- 
pendent. Dr.  Embry,  Ramsey  Cox,  Dred  Hill,  0.  G. 
Tiler  and  many  others  I could  name,  bought  land 
while  it  was  so  cheap  and  the  advance  on  the  value 
of  land  has  made  some  of  their  posterity  independ- 
ently rich.  Ed  Good,  who  has  been  mentioned  in  a 
previous  chapter  of  this  book  as  a school  teacher,  in 
Bell  County,  bought  land  enough  on  Dain ’s  Creek  to 
make  all  his  children  and  grandchildren  rich,  at 
present  prices,  which  he  paid  only  one  dollar  per 
acre  for  at  that  time.  After  I left  the  ranch  on  the 
frontier  where  I had  spent  the  last  three  years  of  my 
single  life,  and  came  back  to  Bell  Comity,  I rented  a 
small  piece  of  land  from  my  father  eight  miles  above 
the  town  of  Belton,  on  Noland  Creek.  There  I made 
a crop  of  corn,  and  in  the  fall  moved  to  Mercer’s 
Colony  in  Comanche  County. 


CORYELL  COUNTY. 

As  to  Lampasas,  Coryell  and  Hamilton  Counties. 
I can  only  give  you  a slight  sketch  of  them,  as  there 
were  no  white  men  living  in  them  at  the  time  of  my 
first  trip  through.  Those  counties  were  settled  and 
organized  while  I was  out  on  the  frontier  ranch  near 
Fort  Chadborn.  Coryell  County  was  very  well  di- 
vided as  to  timber  and  prairie,  having  the  Leon 
River,  Owl  Creek  and  Cowhouse,  running  through 
it.  On  all  those  streams  was  good  timber.  Owl 
Creek  had  fine  large  cedar-brakes  on  it  that  were 
very  valuable,  as  wire  and  planks  for  fencing  was 
not  known  or  even  thought  of  in  that  day. 

Coryell  county  was  a very  good  farming  country. 
The  lands,  all  except  the  mountains,  wras  rich.  The 
river  valley  was  fine  and  the  timber  bottoms  very 
rich.  The  high  prairie  was  a deep  black  soil,  fine 
for  corn,  cotton  and  small  grain.  In  the  early  set- 
tling of  Coryell  County  there  was  one  Mr.  Murrell 
who  settled  on  Clear  Creek,  twelve  miles  above 
Gatesville.  He  had  several  negroes  and  he  put  into 
cultivation  about  one  hundred  acres  of  land,  and 
made  a dam  on  the  creek  and  irrigated  that  farm. 
He  was  well-to-do  before  the  war  came  up  between 
the  states.  The  first  mill  put  up  in  Coryell  County 
was  at  Gatesville  and  was  erected  by  a man  named 
Grant.  This  man  did  more  for  the  town  of  Gates- 
ville than  any  one  of  the  first  settlers.  There  were 
a few  settlers  in  the  lower  edge  of  Coryell  County 
before  the  County  was  organized.  0.  T.  Tiler,  be- 
fore mentioned,  was  one  of  them. 


—29— 


When  I was  engaged  in  hauling  supplies  to  Fort 
Gates,  my  father  had  three  wagons  and  teams;  I 
drove  one  and  one  Thomas  Deaton  another.  I was 
but  a boy,  living  with  my  father  in  Bell  County,  and 
Tom  Deaton  being  a young  man,  was  boss  of  the 
train.  One  day  Deaton  told  me  that  the  settlers  had 
decided  to  put  a ferry  boat  on  the  Leon  River,  so 
when  the  river  was  up  and  not  fordable,  we  could 
cross  on  the  boat,  and  told  me  he  had  contracted  to 
get  out  the  gunnels  for  the  boat,  and  deliver  them 
where  the  boat  was  to  be  built.  The  logs  used  for 
making  the  boat  gunnels  being  very  long  and  heavy 
we  would  have  to  load  by  the  use  of  skid-poles,  plac- 
ing one  end  of  each  pole  on  the  wagon,  and  the  other 
end  resting  on  the  ground,  ten  or  twelve  feet  from 
the  wagon.  The  front  and  hind  wheels  being  about 
twenty  feet  apart,  our  coupling  pole  to  the  wagon 
was  made  of  a small  pecan  sapling  20  feet  long.  We 
got  chains  enough  to  reach  from  the  log  to  the  other 
side  of  the  wagon.  Then  hitched  two  yoke  of  cattle 
to  each  end  of  the  log  and  pulled  it  right  onto  the 
wagon.  We  would  hook  up  10  yoke  of  steers  to  a 
wagon  and  haul  them  to  the  place  where  they  were 
building  the  boat.  The  place  would  now  be  called 
a dock  yards.  This  was  the  first  boat  ever  christen- 
ed for  service  on  the  Leon  River,  and  I do  not  re- 
member that  there  was  any  champagne  broken  on 
this  boat  at  its  launching.  It  was  put  into  service 
between  old  Fort  Gates  and  where  Gatesville  now  is. 


— 30- 

LAMP  ASAS  COUNTY. 


Lampasas  County  was  settled  and  organized  be- 
fore Hamilton  County  because  of  the  sulphur  water 
at  that  place,  which  was  first  discovered  in  the  early 
settling  of  that  part  of  the  country.  Those  springs 
have  been  a great  pleasure  resort  ever  since.  I have 
seen  as  much  as  20  acres  of  ground  solidly  covered 
at  one  time  with  tents  in  the  day  of  their  discovery, 
especially  during  the  summer  season.  It  is  a great 
pleasure,  as  well  as  health  resort,  at  this  time  for 
afflicted  people.  In  fact  the  sulphur  water  has 
made  Lampasas  what  she  is  today,  and  will  always 
keep  it  a good  towm. 

This  county  has  not  as  much  good  farming  land 
as  either  Bell  or  Coryell  County,  but  is  better  adapt- 
ed to  stock  raising.  I expect  there  are  more  cattle 
raised  in  Lampasas  County  than  in  any  county  east 
of  here  and  probably  many  of  the  western  counties 
except  in  the  extreme  west,  which  are  given  over  al- 
most entirely  to  stock-raising.  Lampasas  has  a great 
many  flocks  of  sheep  in  it.  Among  the  first  stock- 
men,  were  Uncle  Charley  Mullins  and  his  boys. 
Those  men  were  large  owners  of  stock,  both  cattle 
and  horses.  They  were  not  only  good  stockmen  but 
good  Indian  fighters.  To  say  the  least  of  it  they  did 
as  much  towards  building  up  Lampasas  County  as 
any  other  family  that  ever  lived  in  it.  Old  Uncle 
Charley  Mullins  died  long  years  ago  at  Thrifty,  in 
Brown  County.  His  oldest  son,  Ike,  died  before  his 
father;  his  death  occurred  at  Eureka  Springs,  Ar- 
kansas. Uncle  Bill  Mullins  still  lives  in  Lampasas 


— 31- 


County,  but  when  I last  heard  from  him  he  was  very 
feeble  .Uncle  John  is  living  at  Thrifty,  in  Brown 
County.  Aunt  Jane  Cross,  the  oldest  child  of  Unele 
Charley,  is  still  living  at  or  near  the  little  town  of 
Thrifty,  in  Brown  County. 


HAMILTON  COUNTY. 

Hamilton  County  has  some  fine  lands  in  it,  also 
has  some  very  rough  country.  The  farming  laud  is 
rich  and  fertile.  Portions  of  Hamilton  County  were 
very  broken  and  caused  the  early  settlers  a great 
deal  of  trouble,  it  afforded  such  good  hiding  place 
for  the  Indians.  They  could  hide  in  those  rough 
mountains  and  depredate  on  the  settlers  for  a long 
time  without  being  discovered.  The  North  Leon 
river  runs  right  through  the  center  of  the  county  and 
the  little  streams  that  emptied  into  the  Leon  River 
wei'e  lined  with  timber,  this  made  the  river  very 
rough.  One  of  the  first  settlers  in  this  part  of  the 
country  was  a man  by  the  name  of  Fuaqua; 
he  lived  about  twelve  miles  above  where  Ham- 
ilton now  stands  and  that  settlement  is  yet 
known  by  the  name  of  Fuaqua  Settlement. 
There  was  another  old  man  in  that  neigh- 
borhood by  the  name  of  Fred  Gentry,  who  was 
a great  help  to  that  country  in  its  early  settling,  and 
let  me  say  just  here  that  that  part  of  Hamilton 


-32- 


County  suffered  as  much  from  Indian  depredations  as 
any  community  in  the  State.  There  was  George 
Gentry,  Marion  Graves,  Elick  Powers,  Wm.  Hanson 
and  a man  by  the  name  of  Manning,  all  from  that 
neighborhood  who  were  in  the  Civil  War  together 
and  while  out  on  a scout  on  the  mountains  of  Jim 
Ned  Creek  they  got  into  a hand  to  hand  fight  with  a 
posse  of  Indians,  and  two  of  the  boys  got  wounded, 
George  Gentry  and  Elick  Powers.  Powers  was  shot 
Wth  an  arrow  through  the  foot.  He  was  on  the 
ground  and  struck  a bush,  breaking  the  arrow  off, 
leaving  the  spike  in  his  foot,  from  about  eleven 
o’clock  until  sunset  that  evening.  Gentry  was  shot 
with  an  arrow  which  struck  him  in  the  stomach  but 
it  was  at  a long  distance  and  the  arrow  was  shot  at 
high  elevation  and  was  coming  almost  straight  down 
when  it  hit  him,  it  just  went  a little  under  the  skin, 
and  did  not  hurt  him.  I am  unable  to  say  whether 
those  boys  are  all  yet  living  or  not'  as  I have  not 
heard  from  them  in  many  years.  George  Gentry 
was  living  in  the  town  of  Dublin  not  many  years  ago. 
Marion  Graves  was  living  in  Hamilton  some  years 
back,  and  I suppose  he  is  there  yet,  if  living.  The 
rest  of  the  boys  that  were  with  me  in  the  war,  from 
Hamilton,  I cannot  tell  their  whereabouts,  I suppose 
many  of  them  are  dead,  as  I have  not  heard  of  them 
in  a long  time.  They  were  older  men  than  I.  Those 
boys  had  a hot  time  with  the  Indians.  It  was  in  this 
settlement  just  after  the  war,  that  the  young  lady 
school  teacher  was  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  Mr. 
Manning,  whom  I have  mentioned  in  a previous 
chapter  as  being  with  me  in  the  war,  was  a patron  of 


—33— 


that  school.  The  Willbarger  History  of  Indian  Dep- 
redations in  Texas,  has  given  this  killing  correctly, 
but  as  there  are  some  young  people  grown  up  that 
probably  have  never  seen  that  history,  I thought  I 
would  give  it  to  the  readers  of  this  book. 

This  young  lady  school  teacher  was  a Miss  Whit- 
ney. I knew  her  from-  the  early  settling  of  Bell 
County,  though  I have  forgotten  her  given  name. 
The  school  house  where  the  killing  of  Miss  Whitney 
took  place  was  situated  right  on  the  edge  of  the  Leon 
River  bottom  and  in  front  for  five  or  six  hundred 
yards,  was  an  open  valley.  Her  pupils  were  all 
small  children.  One  of  the  children  looking  out  at 
the  door  saw  the  Indians  just  as  they  were  coming 
into  the  clearing  at  the  further  edge  of  the  broad  val- 
ley. To  be  sure  that  she  was  right  she  stepped  to 
the  door  and  taking  a careful  look  at  them  was  satis- 
fied that  they  were  Indians  and  turned  back  to  the 
teacher  and  said  to  her:  “There  are  Indians  com- 

ing and  they  are  coming  straight  here.”  But  there 
having  been  no  Indian  troubles  for  a long  time,  and 
the  country  full  of  cow  hunters,  she  thought  the 
child  was  mistaken,  and  without  looking  told  the 
child  to  get  her  lesson,  that  it  was  just  some  cow- 
boys. She  never  went  to  the  door  to  look,  as  she 
was  so  sure  it  wras  cowboys,  but  the  little  girl  kept 
watching  them,  and  at  last  she  jumped  up  and  said: 
“It  is  Indians,  for  I see  their  bows  and  they  have 
got  them  in  their  hands.”  At  this  earnest  suggestion 
the  teacher  stepped  to  the  door  and  saw  the  Indians 
o about  one  hundred  yards  of  the  house.  She  was 
satisfied  from  their  actions  that  they  meant  to  kill 


•34— 


them,  and  got  some  of  the  children  out  of  the  house, 
and  told  them  to  run  down  into  the  bottom.  The 
rest  were  little  fellows  and  she  put  them  under  the 
floor  and  told  them  not  to  make  any  noise.  By  this 
time  the  Indians  were  all  around  the  house.  In 
watching  through  the  cracks  of  the  house  she  discov- 
ered that  the  Indians  had  located  the  children’s 
whereabouts  and  saw  that  they  had  caught  one  of 
Mr.  Manning’s  little  boys  , .A  big  Indian  was  hold- 
ing him  by  the  hand.  At  this  time  some  of  the  In- 
dians were  shooting  arrows  through  the  cracks  of 
the  house  at  Miss  Whitney,  while  others  were  at 
work  bursting  the  door  down.  Soon  they  were  in 
the  house  sticking  spears  and  arrows  in  the  body  of 
that  noble-hearted  woman,  who,  with  the  blood 
streaming  from  her  body,  begged  the  Indians  to  kill 
her  but  not  to  hurt  the  children.  Thus  that  beloved 
girl  sank  down  in  death.  Miss  Whitney  was  a sister 
of  Ed  Whitney,  who  died  in  Comanche  County  a few 
years  ago.  The  little  son  of  Mr.  Manning  was  re- 
captured b}^  white  men  and  brought  home. 

I have  in  a previous  chapter  stated  that  Coryell, 
Hamilton  and  Lampasas  Counties  were  all  organized 
while  I was  out  on  the  ranch  at  Port  Chadborn.  I 
cannot  give  all  the  particulars  of  their  organization, 
as  I was  not  living  in  them  at  the  time,  but  ask  you 
to  pardon  me  for  dropping  back  from  other  parts  of 
my  writing  to  tell  of  things  which  occurred  while  I 
was  passing  through  them.  After  living  in  Coman- 
che, Brown  and  Navarro  Counties,  I dropped  back 
into  Bell  County  .This  move  was  after  the  Civil 
War. 


—35— 

Lampasas  had  settled  up  considerably  at  this 
time.  There  were  several  business  houses  in  it.  In 
the  year  1872  a waterspout  burst  on  the  valley  above 
town,  which  being  near  the  river,  in  a low  valley, 
was  overflowed.  There  was  a slough  and  higher 
ground  between  it  and  the  river,  on  which.  several 
houses  had  been  built.  Some  of  them  were  washed 
away.  One  of  them  was  occupied  by  a man  by  the 
name  of  Garison.  ITe  and  all  of  his  family  were 
drowned.  The  slough  ran  through  between  those 
houses  and  cut  the  parties  off  from  the  main  part  of 
town.  It  was  past  fording  before  any  houses  were 
in  danger  on  the  high  ground.  There  was  one  fel- 
low that  stayed  in  his  house  until  the  water  came  up 
in  his  floor  and  then  got  out  to  climb  on  top  of  the 
house,  but  when  he  stepped  out  into  the  yard  the 
water  was  stronger  than  he  thought  and  carried  him 
down  ten  or  fifteen  steps,  where  he  caught  on  a 
pecan  bush.  There  he  was,  with  the  water  rising  at 
the  rate  of  three  inches  a minute.  He  could  not 
turn  loose  from  the  bush  as  he  could  not  swim  a 
lick;  so  he  began  to  try  to  make  peace  with  his 
Creator.  He  had  never  tried  to  pray  before  in  all 
his  life,  but  the  time  had  come  that  he  felt  like  try- 
ing, and  in  trying  to  think  of  what  to  say,  his  fath- 
er’s old  grace  came  to  his  mind,  and  he  cried  out: 
‘‘0  Lord,  make  us  thankful  for  what  we  are  about  to 
receive.”  Just  as  the  water  was  getting  up  to  the 
chin  of  the  praying  man  it  stopped  rising  and  soon 
began  to  fall,  so  the  poor  fellow  was  saved  from 
drowning.  Whether  or  not  he  was  saved  by  his 
prayers,  is  yet  to  be  decided.  The  writer  has  many 


—36 


friends  who  lived  in  Lampasas  County ; some  of  whom 
have  passed  over  the  Jordan  of  death,  and  some  are 
still  living. 

I was  on  a trip  to  Bell  county,  about  two  months 
ago  and  in  passing  through  Lampasas  town,  had  the 
pleasure  of  shaking  hands  with  some  of  them.  Mr. 
Browning,  Fulton  John  Nickels,  who  was  a soldier 
mate  in  time  of  the  war.  I will  tell  a little  joke  on 
John.  Two  Indians  passed  our  camp  one  time  at 
Colorado  Post.  They  had  six  head  of  stolen  horses 
and  were  passing  near  where  our  horses  were  being 
herded.  The  man  on  guard  ran  into  camp  and  re- 
ported, there  were  about  thirty  men  in  camp  and 
had  been  detailed  to  go  out  on  a scout,  we  all  mount- 
ed our  horses,  and  lit  out  after  those  two  Indians, 
and  after  about  twelve  miles’  chase  we  came  in  sight 
of  them ; every  man  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  the 
best  horse  got  there  first.  Luther  Allen,  who  was 
County  Clerk  of  Coryell  County  for  several  years 
after  the  war,  was  the  first  to  catch  up  with  the  In- 
dians, and  he  shot  and  killed  one  of  them.  By  this 
time  five  or  six  of  us  had  reached  the  battle  ground. 
When  this  Indian  was  killed  the  other  one  ran  on 
about  three  hundred  yards  to  an  elm  grove.  He  was 
trying  to  reach  a grove  of  post  oak  timber  that  lay 
North  of  Coleman  about  three  miles,  but  he  saw  we 
would  get  him  before  he  could  reach  there  and  he 
left  his  horse,  taking  it  on  foot,  thinking  with  the 
advantage  of  those  elm  saplings  he  might  stand  us 
off.  There  was  a post  oak  thicket  of  about  one-half 
of  an  acre  in  size  right  south  of  the  grove  the  Indian 
was  making  for  he  ran  and  got  in  that  thicket;  (Cap- 


•37- 


tain  Tom  Wright,  who  is  now  living  in  Temple,  was 
at  that  time  a lieutenant  in  our  company,  and  in 
command  of  this  scout)  by  this  time  there  were  ten 
or  twelve  men  there.  Some  left  their  horses,  which 
had  given  out,  and  came  on  afoot.  We  were  all  dry 
for  water,  and  there  was  a branch  about  three  hun- 
dred yards  off,  so  Lieutenant  Wright  put  a guard 
around  the  thicket  the  Indian  was  in,  and  let  the 
men  go,  four  at  a time,  to  get  water.  When  all  had 
gotten  water,  I think  we  had  increased  to  fourteen  in 
number,  our  lieutenant  said:  “Now  boys,  we  have 

got  one  of  the  bougers  killed,  and  the  other  where 
he  can’t  get  away,  and  let  us  not  get  anyone  hurt; 
we  can  get  him  without  it.”  So  he  detailed  four 
men  to  surround  the  thicket  while  the  other  ten  made 
a drive  through.  When  they  came  out  they  had  a 
Yankee  blue  roundabout  and  his  moccasins  that  he 
had  shedded,  but  did  not  see  the  Indian ; he  had 
snaked  across  the  glade  and  got  into  some  high  shin- 
oaks  right  up  against  a prairie  bluff.  The  brush 
was  so  thick  we  could  not  see  him  and  he  could  not 
use  his  bow  in  there,  so  we  got  right  up  around  the 
little  thicket,  shooting  in  at  random.  Some  one  got 
a bullet  into  him  and  he  came  out  with  his  bow 
strung — and  here  is  the  joke  I have  on  John  Nick- 
els: He  was  standing  right  in  front  of  the  Indian, 
putting  a cap  on  his  gun,  and  I am  sure  the  Indian 
though  John  was  the  man  that  had  shot  him  in  the 
thicket,  for  he  sent  every  arrow  right  at  him,  and 
John  fell  down  in  the  high  grass  and  crawled  down 
the  hillside  to  dodge  those  arrows.  Tom  Wright 
shot  and  cut  the  Indian’s  bow  in  two  in  the  middle 


—38— 

with  his  rifle.  More  than  twenty  shots  hit  that  In- 
dian in  a moment  and  yet  he  got  back  into  that 
thicket  before  he  fell,  and  when  we  got  in  to  where 
lie  was  he  was  nearly  stiff.  He  had  been  shot  so 
much  his  hide  was  not  fit  for  shoestrings.  A boy 
about  sixteen  years  old  by  the  name  of  Sincler  shot 
that  Indian  just  as  he  came  out  of  the  thicket  and 
hollered  out:  “There,  I shot  him  right  in  the 

mouth,”  and  when  we  examined  him  we  found  that 
the  boy  had  hit  him  right  in  the  corner  of  the  mouth ; 
the  shot  tore  all  the  flesh  off  of  that  side  of  his  face. 
The  pistol  was  one  of  those  old  holster  pistols,  and  he 
had  just  loaded  it,  and  the  boy  being  excited  had 
filled  it  about  five  inches  with  powder.  It  was  six- 
teen inches  long  in  the  barrel;  when  he  shot  the  In- 
dian in  the  mouth  the  barrel  burst  for  about  four 
inches.  In  those  days  boys  were  about  the  best 
Indian  fighters  we  had,  for  they  never  thought  of 
danger. 

Now  I will  get  back  to  the  first  year  of  my  mar- 
ried life  which  was  spent  in  Bell  County.  As  before 
stated,  the  county  was  sparsely  settled,  though  the 
people  were  more  social  than  they  are  now  days,  and 
had  more  confidence  in  each  other  than  at  the  pres- 
ent time.  I well  remember  the  first  money  I ever 
borrowed  in  my  life.  When  I was  married  at  Mr. 
Mercer’s,  as  stated  in  a previous  chapter  of  this  book, 
I left  the  buggy  at  Mercer’s.  It  belonged  to  Parson 
Montgomery,  the  preacher  who  officiated  at  my  first 
marriage  ceremony.  I also  left  my  horse  with  him. 
He  agreeing  to  bring  the  horse  to  me  when  he  came 
down  to  Belton  after  supplies  in  the  spring,  and  I 


—39 


hired  a man  by  the  name  of  Ekles  to  take  us  on  to 
Bell  County.  In  the  spring  Montgomery  came  down 
and  brought  my  horse  as  he  had  agreed  to.  I met 
with  him  eight  miles  west  of  Belton.  He  had  stop- 
ped for  noon.  I lived  one  mile  from  there,  and  hav- 
ing just  fitted  up  for  house-keeping,  was  out  of 
money,  but  asked  him  what  I was  due  him  for  the 
feed  and  care  of  my  horse.  He  said  five  dollars.  I 
told  him  I would  have  his  money  there  by  the  time 
he  was  through  with  dinner.  I saw  a little  new 
house  up  in  the  cove  of  the  mountain  and  rode  up 
to  the  house  and  called  at  the  yard  gate.  A man 
came  out  and  asked  me  to  alight  and  come  in.  1 
told  him  I did  not  have  time,  that  I lived  about  one 
and  a half  miles  down  on  the  creek,  and  had  met  a 
man  out  there  on  the  road  that  I owed  $5.00  and 
wanted  to  borrow  that  amount  of  mony  for  a short 
time,  and  without  asking  my  name,  just  walked  back 
into  the  house  and  came  out  with  a five-dollar  gold 
piece  in  his  hand  and  gave  it  to  me.  I then  asked 
him  his  name  and  he  said  Northcut.  but  said  they  us- 
ually called  him  Hoge.  It  was  the  same  Hoge 
Northcut  that  afterward  moved  and  settled  in 
Comanche  county,  and  has  children  and  grandchil- 
dren now  living  in  that  county. 

In  those  days  men  had  confidence  in  each  other, 
but  those  days  of  confidence  have  all  passed.  I 
would  like  to  see  the  face  of  a stranger,  at  this  time, 
that  could  borrow  $5.00  from  a man  he  had  never 
seen  or  heard  of  before  without  giving  a gilt-edged 
security. 


-40- 


Now  reader  I want  to  say  that  during  the  first 
settling  of  this  country,  some  fifty  years  ago,  people 
were  more  kind-hearted,  generous  and  benevolent 
than  in  these  later  years,  while  there  are  some  men 
who  have  followed  up  the  footsteps  of  their  fore- 
fathers, they  are  very  few  and  far  between. 

I have  known  men  whose  fathers  came  to  Texas 
when  they  were  boys  from  the  Northern  states,  and 
those  boys  had  fine  schools  to  start  into  and  get  a 
good  education,  while  their  fathers  had  the  fat  of 
the  country  to  make  money  out  of.  I have  seen 
those  kind  of  men  standing  on  the  streets  of  our 
cities  with  a ten-cent  cigar  in  their  mouth  talking 
about  the  old  pioneers,  saying  if  they  had  had  any 
sense  they  could  have  been  rich.  I will  tell  you  why 
those  old  early  settlers  are  not  millionaires  and  why 
those  who  came  later  are.  In  the  first  place,  those 
early  settlers  had  no  free  schools  and  the  country 
was  so  thinly  settled  it  was  a hard  proposition  to 
even  get  up  a little  subscription  school,  the  teach- 
ers were  mostly  women,  as  the  men  had  to  be  at 
work  improving,  and  those  good  women  had  about 
enough  education  to  get  into  one  of  our  colleges  of 
today,  if  you  were  to  blindfold  them  and  back  them 
in  like  getting  a horse  out  of  a fire ; these  schools 
were  taught  by  such  teachex*s  as  the  one  before  men- 
tioned in  this  book,  who  was  killed  by  Indians.  So 
you  can  see  why  the  old  settlei-s’  children  and  grand 
children  grew  up  without  education.  Those  who 
have  grown  up  in  later  days  of  peace  and  pleixty, 
do  not  realize  what  the  first  settlers  had  to  con- 
tend with.  This  is  why  so  many  of  the  old  fellows 


-41- 


are  so  illiterate  today,  as  you  have  no  doubt  already 
discovered  of  your  humble  servant.  I will  give  you 
a few  reasons  why  there  are  no  very  wealthy  men 
among  the  early  settlers.  We  had  no  railroads  to 
bring  farming  machinery  or  to  transport  our  pro- 
ducts to  market,  or  to  bring  building  material,  but 
we  cultivated  our  farms  with  plows  made  out  and 
out — lock,  stock  and  barrel,  by  a wood  and  black- 
smith. All  wood,  but  a point  and  land  bar,  with  a 
wood  mouldboard ; now-a-days  called  the  wing  of 
the  plow,  using  oxen  for  teams  and  a boy  to  engi- 
neer them,  and  a good  days’  work  was  to  sod  one- 
half  of  an  acre.  After  the  land  was  turned  we  had 
to  pulverize  it  with  a large  wood  harrow.  Plows 
used  in  cultivating  were  either  a straight  shovel  or 
bull  tongue.  We  made  the  stock  out  of  wood,  some- 
thing similar  in  shape  to  the  Georgia  stock,  these 
plows  were  pulled  by  a yoke  of  oxen.  I am  now 
seventy-five  years  old  and  I never  saw  a double- 
shovel until  I was  forty  years  old ; that  is,  in  this 
part  of  the  state.  When  we  raised  wheat  we  had  to 
clean  off  a place  on  the  ground  and  spread  wagon 
sheets  down,  laying  the  bundles  around  in  a circle 
some  thirty  feet  in  diameter  with  the  head  up  and 
towards  the  center  of  the  circle  and  put  boys  on 
horses  and  go  round  and  round  and  tramp  out  the 
grain.  This  process  must  have  been  taken  from  the 
Scriptures  where  the  angel  was  seen  over  the  thresh- 
ing floor  of  Oman,  the  Nebuzite.  The  wheat  was 
cut  with  a cradle,  or  reap  hooks,  and  bound  in  bun- 
dles by  hand  with  a little  wisp  of  the  straw.  We 
could  not  raise  stock  to  accumulate  wealth  as  the  In- 


—42— 

dians  would  steal  and  drive  them  off  faster  than  we 
could  raise  them. 

Those  circumstances  account  for  there  being 
no  very  wealthy  men  among  the  older  settlers,  most 
of  whom  are  passing  away,  leaving  no  legacy  for 
their  children,  and  while  they  ought  to  have  the 
honor  and  credit  of  doing  something  for  this  country 
they  are  looked  upon  and  referred  to  as  a very  com- 
mon class  of  people.  Not  having  a finished  educa- 
tion and  wealth,  they  are  classed  as  mossbacks  or 
hayseeds  by  the  aristocracy  of  the  present  day.  I 
can  tell  you  why  the  rising  generations  and  later 
emigrants  to  this  country  are,  some  of  them,  wealthy, 
and  a few,  millionaires.  When  they  began  to  come 
to  this  country,  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  just  start 
right  into  making  money.  The  old  pioneers  had 
driven  the  Indians  out  and  the  country  was  civilized 
and  Christianized  and  capital  from  the  old  states  be- 
gan to  come  into  this  country  and  railroads  came  in, 
bringing  farming  implements  and  machinery  and 
creating  a market  for  the  products  of  labor  and  land, 
also  material  to  build  with;  in  fact  everything  need- 
ed for  improving,  was  at  hand.  Thirty  years  ago 
land  was  selling  at  from  one  to  two  dollars  per  acre, 
that  is,  good  farming  land.  Pasture  land  from  fifty 
to  seventy-five  cents  per  acre.  There  were  men  that 
came  into  this  country  in  those  days  who  bought  up 
large  tracts  of  land  that  is  now  worth  from  twenty- 
five  to  fifty  dollars  per  acre — the  advance  in  prices 
on  the  land  has  made  them  rich. 


—43— 


COMANCHE  COUNTY. 

In  the  fall  of  1855  I moved  up  to  Comanche 
County  and  settled  about  three  miles  from  where 
Newburg  now  is,  on  Mountain  Creek.  There  were 
at  that  time  about  twenty-five  or  thirty  families  in 
that  country,  yet  the  county  was  not  organized.  They 
had  an  election  of  officers  before  I reached  there.  I 
think  this  was  done  to  start  the  organization  of  the 
county.  They  had  selected  old  Cora,  as  the  place 
for  the  county  seat,  twelve  miles  east  of  where  the 
town  of  Comanche  now  is.  Soon  after  I got  there 
they  had  an  election  in  which  Jim  Martin  was  elect- 
ed Sheriff  and  Frank  Collier  first  County  Clerk.  I 
will  not  try  to  give  all  of  the  County  officers,  as  I do 
not  remember  all  of  them,  but  all  county  business 
was  transacted  at  the  town  of  Old  Cora  for  some 
years  before  the  county  lines  were  established.  The 
first  District  Judge  to  hold  court  in  Comanche  Coun- 
ty was  N.  AY.  Battler  of  AVaco,  and  McCall  I think 
was  the  first  District  Attorney.  The  first  criminal 
case  of  note  tried  was  old  Billy  Tatum,  better  known 
as  old  Bud  Tatum.  He  was  tried  for  the  killing  of 
AYylie  Baggett,  and  the  writer  was  a witness  in  the 
case,  the  defendant’s  counsel  was  Col.  Norris  of 
AVaco,  after  about  three  trials  Tatum  was  acquitted. 
The  next  murder  case  tried  at  Cora,  was  Ace  Reade. 
He  was  charged  with  being  an  accessory  to  the  kill- 
ing of  a man  by  the  name  of  Foreman.  This  killing 
was  done  a little  while  before  the  first  case  tried. 
The  man  that  killed  Foreman  was  Joe  Reade.  He 
was  never  caught,  and  his  father,  though  implicated 
in  the  killing,  was  cleared. 


By  this  time  our  new  county  began  to  think  of 
getting  down  to  business  in  a business  way  as  there 
were  many  new  comers  settling  in  it,  and  they  had 
the  surveyor,  Mr.  Lon  Price,  to  run  out  the  county 
lines.  Finding  Old  Cora  to  be  in  the  extreme  lower 
edge  of  the  county,  the  commissioners  moved  the 
county  seat  to  where  it  now  is,  and  gave  it  the  same 
name  as  the  county. 

When  I settled  on  Mountain  Creek,  four  families 
lived  on  that  creek.  James  Cunningham,  better 
known  as  Captain  Cunningham ; Charlie  Campbell, 
Thomas  Dunlap,  Jonathan  Watson,  all  of  them  as 
good  neighbors  as  I ever  lived  by  in  my  life.  I will 
tell  you  something  of  two  of  those  neighbors,  and  I 
assure  you  I am  not  flattering  them  to  their  off- 
spring who  may  read  this  book.  It  is  likely,  at  least 
I think  so,  that  any  of  the  rest  of  those  neighbors 
would  have  been  just  of  the  same  good  principles  if 
they  had  had  the  same  opportunities.  Campbell  and 
Cunningham  each  had  a small  stock  of  cattle  and 
when  the  new-comers  would  settle  around  them  they 
would  go  to  them,  and  if  they  wanted  cows  to  milk, 
would  tell  them  to  make  themselves  cowpens  and 
would  pen  them  all  the  cows  they  needed  to  milk, 
and  when  either  of  those  two  men  killed  a beef  they 
would  just  send  a man  to  all  of  the  neighbors,  tell- 
ing them  to  come  over  and  get  all  the  beef  they 
wanted.  They  never  asked  a cent  of  pay  for  it,  and 
this  was  done  every  two  or  three  weeks  during  the 
summer  season.  Those  were  two  of  the  best-to-do 
men  in  that  country  at  that  time.  Now  reader,  if 
you  will  show  me  two  of  the  wealthiest  men  of  your 


-45- 


country  today  that  have  that  kind  of  sympathy  for 
the  poor  class  of  people,  I will  show  you  a black  bird 
as  white  as  a snowball. 

There  was  also  Jessie  Mercer,  Dr.  Tuggle,  and 
Joseph  Hicks,  who  were  in  very  good  circumstances, 
and  I think  were  very  kind  to  their  neighbors  when 
in  needy  circumstances.  To  say  the  least  of  it  the 
early  settlers  of  Comanche  County  had  hearts  in 
them  like  unto  an  ox. 

When  Comanche  County  first  began  to  settle  up 
I thought  it  was  the  finest  country  I had  ever  seen, 
and  it  was  a sight  to  look  upon  those  fine  valleys  of 
grass,  and  beautiful  post  oak  timber  and  to  add  to 
the  benefit  of  those  early  settlers  the  country  was 
full  of  game,  deer,  turkey,  antelope  and  occasionally 
a bear.  The  first  bear  I saw  in  this  country  was  af- 
ter the  country  was  organized;  George  W.  Montgom- 
ery, Nat  Dawson  and  I were  appointed  to  survey  or 
rather  review  a road  from  Old  Cora  to  the  Lam- 
pasas County  line,  crossing  the  Cowhouse  Creek  near 
the  head  of  it.  Soon  after  the  road  was  reviewed, 
there  were  six  or  eight  hands  sent  out  to  open  up 
the  road  and  just  before  we  got  to  Cowhouse  Creek 
out  on  the  high  prairie  we  met  a large  bear.  It  was 
in  the  summer  season  and  the  beast  was  trying  to 
cross  the  divide  and  get  over  on  the  Leon  where  it 
could  find  the  rough  brakes.  We  put  out  after  him, 
some  on  horseback  and  some  on  foot,  and  those  on 
horseback  would  head  the  bear  off  and  hold  him  up 
until  those  on  foot  got  up.  The  first  timber  we 
reached  was  in  about  three  hundred  yards  of  old  man 
Albin’s  house.  He  lived  right  where  the  town  of 


—46- 


Energy  now  is.  The  bear  climbed  up  the  first  tree 
he  came  to,  and  Mr.  Albin  went  to  the  house  and  got 
his  rifle.  He  brought  one  of  his  little  boys  with  him, 
and  in  order  to  have  it  said  that  his  little  boy  killed 
the  first  bear  in  the  county,  his  father  taking  aim  on 
the  bear’s  head  let  the  boy  pull  the  trigger.  At  the 
crack  of  the  gun  the  bear  fell  out.  I think  it  was 
Pate  Albin  that  killed  the  first  bear.  This  is  my 
recollection,  but  it  lias  been  so  long  ago  I may  mis- 
take some  events  as  to  dates,  and  just  how  certain 
things  occurred,  yet  they  are  only  slight  errors  and 
have  the  same  meaning.  I am  glad  to  know  that 
there  are  enough  old  settlers  yet  living  in  each  coun- 
ty that  I am  writing  about  to  verify  and  correct  any- 
thing I may  say  about  the  country. 

My  father  opened  the  first  store  in  Comanche 
County  but  in  twelve  months  or  less,  Uncle  Dick 
Carnes  and  his  brother,  Ship,  came  in  from  Georg1' a 
and  put  up  another  store.  About  that  time  J.  M. 
Cross  and  Jesse  Mercer  put  in  a steam  saw  and  grist 
mill.  This  was  at  Old  Cora,  which  at  that  time  was 
the  county  seat  of  Comanche  County.  So  I left 
Mountain  Creek,  and  moved  down  to  town  in  order 
to  help  build  and  run  that  mill.  When  I moved  to 
Cora  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  were  my  father,  J. 
M.  Cross,  T.  J.  Nabors,  Samuel  Steel,  James  Jeffrey, 
Richard  Carnes,  Tom  Mathas,  Frank  Collier  and  Jas. 
Martin.  Those  employed  in  getting  timber  for  the 
frame  work  of  that  first  mill  were  T.  J.  Nabors,  Sam 
Steel,  Ike  Jeffrey,  myself  and  a young  man  by  the 
name  of  Andrew  Stewart.  We  went  to  North  Leon 
River  to  cut  and  haul  those  timbers,  for  the  framing 


—47— 

of  the  mill  building.  (I  will  say  right  here  that  this 
young  man  Stewart,  before  mentioned  in  this  book, 
was  the  father  of  Terry,  Billy  and  Lee  Stewart;  all 
of  these  brothers  are  living  in  this  county.)  We 
had  not  been  long  at  work  on  the  mill  building  when 
some  more  families  came  into  the  county.  Old  man 
Huckaby,  who  has  a son  now  living  near  Blanket; 
Peter  Gates,  John  Malone  and  Eliek  Piper,  all  of 
whom  were  employed  and  added  to  our  force  in 
building  the  mill  house,  and  by  the  time  the  machin- 
ery got  there  we  were  ready  for  putting  it  in  place. 
They  hired  a man  at  Georgetown  who  was  an  engi- 
neer, to  put  the  machinery  in  and  run  the  engine  for 
some  time ; his  name  was  Robert  Brooks.  After  this 
mill  was  put  up  I ran  it  as  long  as  it  was  kept  at  this 
place.  The  owners  found  that  it  was  too  costly  ma- 
chinery for  such  a thinly  settled  country  and  moved 
it  to  Bell  County.  During  the  two  years  it  was  op- 
erated in  this  county  it  cut  several  thousand  feet  of 
oak  and  cottonwood  lumber.  When  we  got  walnut 
or  sycamore  logs  we  cut  them  into  scantling  and  sold 
it  for  making  furniture,  to  Mr.  Matthews,  who  was 
running  a wood  shop  at  that  place  at  the  time. 

By  this  time  there  were  quite  a number  of  peo- 
ple moved  and  settled  in  Cora  and  the  surrounding 
country,  and  by  the  way,  there  were  some  of  them 
religious.  The  first  sermon  preached  in  the  county 
was  delivered  by  one  of  two  men,  I cannot  now  say 
which,  but  it  was  either  Mance  Coker  or  old  Brother 
Childress.  They  were  both  local  preachers  and  old 
pioneers  of  this  country  and  as  good  men,  I think,  as 
ever  lived.  The  first  Methodist  minister  that  was 


—48— 


termed  a circuit  rider  in  this  county  was  a Mr.  Kidd, 
and  the  first  presiding  Elder  was  Rev.  Louis  W.  Na- 
pels.  I shall  never  forget  the  first  conference  held 
in  the  county.  There  was  an  old  brother  by  the  name 
of  Stedham  Nealey,  usually  called  Uncle  Zack.  He 
had  got  on  a little  “whiz,”  as  they  called  it  in  those 
days,  and  old  Uncle  Peter  Gates,  having  a strong 
dislike  for  whiskey,  reported  the  old  brother  to  the 
conference.  The  quarterly  conference  was  held  in  a 
little  board  house  that  we  had  for  a court  house,  and 
when  the  question  was  asked,  “Are  there  any  com- 
plaints,” the  pastor  answered,  “Yes,”  and  handed 
him  a paper  on  which  was  the  bill  of  charges,  and  the 
Elder  read  the  charges  out  as  follows:  “Brother 

Stedham,  we  are  told  that  you  have  taken  too  much 
of  the  intoxicates  and  likewise  as  to  this  question  do 
you  answer  guilty  or  not  guilty?”  To  this  Mr.  Sted- 
ham answered:  “Brother  Whippels,  I can’t  say 

that  I have,  though  I must  confess  that  I was  up  here 
at  Mr.  Martin’s  grocery  the  other  day  and  I took  it 
a little  too  fast.”  They  pardoned  the  old  brother. 

I want  to  give  you  another  joke  we  got  on  an- 
other one  of  our  old  boys.  He  was  a very  good  man. 
This  was  Tom  Dunlap  He  and  Tom  Deaton,  before 
mentioned  in  this  book,  were  running  for  the  office 
of  sheriff,  it  being  the  second  race  for  that  office  in 
Comanche  county  and  the  candidates  were  doing 
their  best  electioneering.  There  was  a man  by  the 
name  of  Dawson  living  on  Little  Mountain  Creek. 
Dunlap  was  so  sure  that  Dawson  would  vote  for  him 
that  he  told  him  one  day  just  before  the  election  that 
he  wanted  him  to  be  on  hand  on  election  day,  but 


—49 — 


Dawson  said  he  had  no  shoes  fit  to  wear  to  town. 
Dunlap  said  he  would  send  him  a pair,  and  did, — 
sent  his  wife’s  shoes  to  Dawson,  and  when  he  got  to 
town  on  election  day  Dawson  rooted  for  the  other 
man,  and  Tom  Deaton  was  elected.  If  Dunlap  had 
not  made  the  mistake,  but  had  sent  his  OAvn  shoes  in- 
stead of  his  wife’s,  he  would  have  been  one  vote,  if 
no  more,  nearer  to  Deaton.  This  was  the  second 
sheriff’s  race  while  Old  Cora  was  the  county  seat. 

A man  by  the  name  of  Kingsberry  put  up  a store 
in  Cora  and  did  business  there  some  time  after  the 
town  was  moved  to  Comanche.  This  man  Kings- 
berry and  Frank  Collier,  Uncle  Dick  Carnes,  Sam 
Steele,  James  Jeffrey,  Tom  Matthews,  old  man  Huck- 
aby  and  myself  still  stayed  at  Old  Cora  until  the  war 
of  ’61.  This  country  settled  up  faster  than  any  coun- 
try in  this  belt  of  Texas.  Jesse  Mercer,  Mr.  Cooper, 
John  McGuier,  IJoge  Northcut  and  Ed  Whitney  all 
came  to  this  country  from  Bell  County.  There  was 
also  a family  by  the  name  of  McKinzie,  the  old  man 
and  some  married  sons.  The  old  man  settled  a place 
on  Durby  Creek  and  lived  and  died  and  was  buried 
on  that  place.  This  place  was  called  the  Watson 
place  for  a long  time.  It  was  on  that  place  that 
Watson  died  and  a man  named  Pinkerd  now  owns 
the  place.  The  old  man  McKinzie,  who  was  laid  to 
rest  on  the  place,  was  killed  by  the  Indians.  One  of 
his  sons,  Kinith  McKinzie,  was  aftei’wards  killed  at 
Comanche  in  an  Indian  fight.  At  the  time  this  oc- 
curred there  were  only  a few  houses  in  the  town. 
Late  one  evening  a report  reached  there  that  there 
were  Indians  in  the  settlement  but  by  the  time  the 


—50- 


men  of  the  town  could  get  together,  get  their  horses 
and  get  out  after  them,  it  was  night.  The  men  had 
only  gotten  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  pub- 
lic square  when  they  met  a posse  of  Indians  in  a 
grove  of  scattering  oak  timber  which  ran  right  up 
into  the  town.  When  they  saw  the  Indians  they  first 
thought  them  to  be  a party  of  white  men  coming  to 
join  them  and  had  not  so  much  as  drawn  their  arms 
or  made  any  preparation  for  fight,  until  they  were 
right  together  and  the  Indians  were  shooting  arrows 
into  them.  In  this  fight  McKinzie  was  killed.  The 
fight  took  place  west  of  the  public  square  in  what  is 
now  the  thickest  settled  part  of  town.  I am  very 
sure  that  the  fight  in  Comanche  that  night  saved  me 
from  getting  shot  from  the  brush  the  next  day.  I 
was  out  at  Charlie  Campbell’s  place  planting  corn 
for  him,  working  a yoke  of  steers  that  were  very 
gentle  and  a very  fine  plow  team,  and  late  in  the 
evening  I was  plowing  in  rows  about  a hundred  and 
fifty  yards  in  length,  the  rows  running  right  up  to 
the  fence,  which  was  right  close  to  a bluff  on  Moun- 
tain Creek.  Just  room  for  a wagon  road  between 
the  fence  and  the  bank  of  the  creek  and  there  was  a 
trail  leading  down  the  bank  into  the  bed  of  the 
creek.  So  late  that  evening  I was  turning  at  that 
end  of  my  row  and  just  as  the  steers  turned  around 
they  threw  up  their  heads  and  jerked  the  plow-han- 
dles out  of  my  hands  and  ran  about  half  way  back 
towards  the  other  end  of  the  rows  before  I could 
stop  them.  I thought  of  going  back  and  coming 
down  the  rows  right,  but  just  at  that  time  Campbell 
rode  up  to  the  house.  He  had  been  to  Comanche 


—51— 


that  evening  and  got  the  news  of  the  fight  in  town 
and  was  sitting  on  his  horse,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
talking  to  his  wife  and  children,  and  I knew  from  his 
appearance  that  there  was  something  wrong  and  just 
dropped  my  team  loose  and  went  to  the  house.  It 
was  just  about  sunset.  Campbell  told  me  about  the 
fight  in  town  the  night  before  and  said  to  me  that 
we  had  better  get  up  our  horses  and  tie  them  in  the 
yard,  which  we  did  before  dark.  Just  after  dark 
awhile  I got  to  thinking  about  how  my  steers  had 
acted  when  I turned  them  at  the  end  of  the  rows. 
They  had  never  done  such  a thing  before,  and  I told 
Mr.  Campbell  about  it.  He  said  it  was  a lucky  thing 
for  me  that  the  steers  ran  away,  that  there  were  In- 
dians hidden  under  the  creek  bank,  and  if  I had  gone 
back  there  again  they  would  have  shot  me  in  the 
back  as  I turned.  So  the  next  morning  Sol  Beard 
and  myself  went  out  to  see  what  sign  we  could  find, 
and  sure  enough  there  had  been  two  Indians  lying 
right  up  to  the  edge  of  the  bank.  Plain  prints  of 
their  moccasins  in  the  sand  where  they  had  sat  for 
me.  The  steers  had  smelled  them  and  ran  or  they 
would  have  gotten  me  that  time.  During  that  raid 
the  people  had  to  be  on  the  watch  for  several  days 
and  nights.  They  stayed  in  that  time  longer  than 
usual,  as  there  were  but  few  people  in  the  country, 
and  when  we  got  a scout  out  after  the  Indians  it 
took  all  the  rest  of  the  men  left  to  guard  our  families 
and  what  few  horses  were  left. 

I will  here  relate  a little  joke  on  two  of  the  boys 
who  were  left  to  guard  the  families  and  stock.  They 
were  rather  good  boys,  brave  enough,  I had  in  time 


-52- 


passed,  freighted  with  one  of  them,  and  know  he  was 
not  a coward,  but  somehow  the  sight  of  a red  man 
excited  the  boys.  It  was  at  George  Montgomery’s 
they  had  to  guard  the  horses.  Aston  Montgomery 
and  Dave  Parker  were  the  boys  left  on  guard,  and 
when  night  came  on  they  tied  the  horses  to  oak 
trees  which  stood  in  the  yard.  G.  W.  Montgomery 
lived  about  six  hundred  yards  south  of  where  New- 
burg  now  is,  and  his  house  stood  inside  the  field,  the 
fence  running  just  back  of  the  house.  He  told  the 
boys  they  could  watch  the  horses  until  midnight  and 
ho  would  watch  the  latter  part  of  the  night.  To  this 
the  boys  readily  agreed,  and  taking  their  shotguns 
they  sat  on  the  inside  of  the  fence,  the  shadow  of 
which  hid  them  from  view  of  anyone  on  the  outside. 
About  9 o’clock  the  boys  noticed  the  horses  looking 
right  up  the  string  of  fence,  which  caused  them  to 
look  up  the  outside,  and  they  saw  an  Indian  coming 
right  down  the  string  of  fence  on  the  outside,  with 
his  bow  hanging  on  his  shoulder,  they  just  stuck  the 
muzzles  of  their  guns  through  the  cracks  of  the  fence 
and  when  the  Indian  got  right  opposite  the  boys  he 
stopped  and  straightened  up,  looking  right  over  the 
boys  at  the  horses.  Just  at  this  time  the  boys  fired 
both  barrels  of  their  guns,  but  the  Indian  ran  off  un- 
hurt. The  next  day  Campbell  and  myself  were  over 
there  trailing  around  after  the  Indian  to  see  if  we 
could  find  any  blood  on  the  trail.  Parker  told  me 
he  could  see  the  Indian ’s  eyes  when  he  shot,  but  after 
failing  to  find  any  blood,  we  came  back  and  found 
that  they  had  shot  twigs  off  of  trees  fifteen  feet 
above  the  ground  in  about  thirty  yards  of  where 
they  were  standing. 


—53— 


When  this  country  was  first  settling  up  a good 
many  went  into  the  hog-raising  business,  as  they  did 
not  think  the  Indians  would  steal  them,  and  further, 
it  required  so  little  capital  to  start  with.  There 
were  Hamsley,  Wilson,  Parker.  Davis  and  Henderson 
and  many  others  too  numerous  to  mention  who 
bought  up  a few  hogs  and  went  into  the  hog-raising 
business,  and  it  was  but  a little  while  until  the  woods 
were  full  of  hogs.  It  is  strange  that  now  we  hardly 
ever  see  a good  acorn  mast.  In  those  days  the  tim- 
ber was  always  full  of  acorns,  and  we  killed  our  hogs 
fattened  on  the  mast,  which  made  good  bacon.  Af- 
ter a year  or  two  the  country  got  full  of  hogs,  and 
there  came  a dry  summer  and  the  post  oak  mast  fell 
short,  and  the  hogs  began  to  drift  down  Hamsley ’s 
Creek  and  other  little  streams  running  into  North 
Leon  river.  At  that  time  there  was  a blackjack 
thicket  on  the  north  side  of  the  river,  about  two 
miles  wide  and  three  miles  long,  running  up  and 
down  the  river,  the  hogs  would  drift  from  the  south 
side  to  the  north  side  of  the  river  and  would  land  in 
that  blackjack  rough.  There  they  found  acorns 
which  had  fallen  off  the  year  before,  enough  to  fat- 
ten them  so  as  to  make  fairly  good  pork,  but  by  the 
time  they  got  fat  they  would  be  as  wild  as  deer  and 
could  not  be  handled  at  all.  I learned  that  winter 
that  pork  was  a fine  price  down  at  Belton  and  con- 
tracted with  the  hog  men  to  kill  those  wild  hogs  and 
dress  them  on  the  shares.  They  all  were  glad  to  give 
me  one-half  the  pork  to  kill  and  deliver  their  part 
at  Old  Cora.  So  I hired  old  man  Huckaby,  John 
Tridel  and  John  Blevens  to  help  me ; got  a good  hog- 


-54- 


dog,  a wagon  and  yoke  of  steers  and  pulled  out  to 
North  Leon  river.  We  struck  camp  on  the  north 
side  in  the  edge  of  the  bottom ; made  a log-heap  fire ; 
cleared  off  the  snow  and  dried  a place  to  stretch  our 
tent.  We  would  get  up  before  daylight  and  have 
breakfast  over  and  by  daylight  be  in  that  rough  on  a 
hog  trail.  When  the  dog  would  get  up  with  the 
hogs,  if  they  were  not  too  wild  they  would  rally  and 
fight  the  dog,  and  we  could  kill  the  whole  bunch  in 
a pile;  but  sometimes  we  would  strike  a bunch  that 
were  so  wild  they  would  not  rally,  but  keep  running 
and  the  dog  would  catch  one  and  we  would  shoot 
him,  our  dog  would  then  lite  out  for  another  and  keep 
this  up  until  we  got  most  of  the  bunch,  then  we 
would  send  one  man  back  to  camp  after  the  wagon 
and  the  other  two  would  proceed  to  collect  our  dead 
hogs  together  by  tying  a rope  to  our  saddle  horns 
and  fastening  the  other  end  to  a hog  and  take  him  to 
a loading  place.  By  the  time  the  wagon  arrived  we 
would  have  them  all  in  a pile  and  would  load  up  and 
return  to  camp.  Old  man  Huckaby  being  the  older 
man,  was  always  left  at  camp  to  do  our  cooking 
and  have  hot  rocks  to  heat  water  for  scalding  the 
hogs.  I do  not  remember  just  how  long  we  were 
camped  in  that  place  killing  hogs,  but  it  was  some 
time,  and  we  killed  about  one  thousand  pounds  of 
dressed  pork  a day  on  an  average.  My  part  of  the 
pork  that  I killed  that  winter,  after  paying  the  three 
hands  I had  to  help  me  at  one  dollar  a day,  and  the 
expense  of  delivering  the  pork  at  Belton,  cleared  me 
$200  for  the  four  or  five  weeks’  work. 


—55— 


One  night  while  out  on  this  hog-killing  expe- 
dition, we  got  in  late  with  a big  load  of  hogs  and  by 
the  time  we  could  get  water  hot  and  ready  for  clean- 
ing the  hogs  it  was  dark  and  when  we  were  through 
and  had  the  hogs  hung  on  poles  it  was  near  mid- 
night ; Huckaby,  John  Tridel  and  I had  to  take  the 
entrails  out.  While  we  were  doing  this,  John  Blev- 
ins cleared  off  the  platform  on  which  we  had  scrap- 
ed the  hogs.  It  was  about  eighteen  inches  high  all 
around,  but  the  water  and  hog  hair  made  a slop 
about  six  inches  deep.  When  he  got  the  platform 
cleared  off  he  lay  down  on  the  edge  of  it  and  soon 
was  fast  asleep.  John  Tridel  said,  “Now  we  will 
have  some  fun.”  He  and  Blevins  had  been  sleeping 
together  all  the  winter,  and  when  one  would  want 
the  other  to  turn  over  he  would  say  “spoon.”  Tri- 
del got  right  close  to  him  and  called  out  loud,  “John, 
spoon,”  and  Blevins,  fast  asleep,  whirled  over  clear 
off  the  platform  down  into  the  hog  hair  and  water. 
He  was  a sight  to  look  at.  It  took  him  two  hours  to 
dry  his  clothes  enough  to  go  to  bed.  In  those  days 
people  never  got  mad  at  such  pranks,  and  after  he 
got  his  clothes  warm  and  dry  enough  to  sleep  in  he 
enjoyed  the  joke  as  much  as  any  of  us. 

In  the  years  1857  and  ’58  this  county  was  be- 
coming pretty  thickly  settled,  with,  I think,  the  most 
noble-hearted  people  I ever  saw  in  any  country.  If 
one  man  in  the  settlement  had  plenty  he  saw  to  it 
that  his  neighbors  did  not  suffer.  In  the  two  years  I 
have  mentioned  the  Indians  were  worse  than  they 
had  ever  before  been,  while  some  of  our  citizens  were, 
trying  to  farm  and  others  trying  to  raise  stock  we 


—56— 


had  a pretty  hard  time.  The  only  way  we  had  to 
protect  ourselves  was  to  organize  minute  companies 
in  each  settlement  and  when  Indians  were  reported 
in  the  country  would  fly  to  our  arms  and  horses  and 
get  in  after  them.  The  company  I belonged  to  was 
that  of  Captain  Jas.  Cunningham.  He  had  three 
boys  old  enough  to  fight  Indians,  and  they  were  boys 
who  were  always  at  the  right  place  when  there  was 
any  scrapping  to  do.  Their  names  were  Aaron, 
Dave  and  Dick  .They  are  all  living  yet  in  Comanche 
County.  Now  reader  don’t  think  I am  flattering 
those  boys  or  that  I am  any  way  partial  to  them.  I 
am  sure  we  had  just  as  brave,  honorable  and  high- 
minded  boys  all  over  the  country  as  they  were,  but  I 
was  closely  associated  with  them,  not  only  in  this 
ranger  company,  but  during  the  first  year  of  the 
Civil  War,  when  we  were  mess-mates  in  the  army, 
and  if  there  is  anything  short  in  a man  you  will  find 
it  out  in  a year  in  a soldier  camp. 

During  the  years  1857  and  1858  the  Indians 
gave  Comanche  County  a great  deal  of  trouble. 
They  seemed  to  be  bent  on  the  murder  of  the 
whites  more  than  on  stealing  horses.  There  was 
a man  by  the  name  of  Ed  Forman  who  lived  in  North 
Leon  bottom  about  5 miles  from  Cora.  He  came  to 
town  one  evening  after  some  coffee,  and  left  the  town 
late  in  the  evening.  He  was  afoot,  and  when  about 
half  way  home  was  attacked  by  a body  of  Indians. 
He  was  killed  and  scalped,  and  from  the  sign  of  horse 
tracks  it  was  supposed  there  were  about  fifteen  In- 
dians in  the  bunch.  He  had  evidently  seen  them 
eoming  in  full  speed  on  their  horses  and  he  being 


—57— 


afoot  ran  to  a thicket,  but  before  he  reached  it  the 
Indians  had  shot  so  many  arrows  into  him  that  he 
fell  before  getting  far  into  the  thicket.  The  next 
morning  there  was  a party  of  men  out  on  search  for 
the  missing  man.  Indians  having  been  seen  in  the 
country  the  day  before.  Every  man  that  could  leave 
home  was  out  on  search  for  the  Indians,  some  of 
them  struck  the  trail,  and  in  a short  time  came  onto 
where  they  had  been  running  and  shooting  Forman, 
and  trailed  him  by  his  own  blood  until  they  found 
him.  I do  not  remember  just  who  were  in  the  crowd 
that  found  him.  I was  not  in  that  bunch,  though  I 
got  in  home  that  night  just  before  they  brought  the 
dead  man  in.  I remember  one  man  who  was  in  the 
party  that  found  him,  it  was  Mr.  Jess  Cook,  who  had 
a party  of  men  with  him,  they  lived  in  Bell  County, 
and  had  been  following  a trail  of  the  Indians  from 
Bell  County,  with  stolen  horses;  and  were  on  their 
return  home  when  they  fell  in  with  our  boys  on  this 
trail.  They  were  with  them  when  they  found  the 
dead  man,  and  the  boys  began  to  pull  the  arrows  out 
of  his  body,  one  was  shot  into  the  back  and  several 
of  the  men  tried  to  pull  it  out  but  failed,  and  this 
man  Cook,  from  Belton,  a very  stout  man  weighing 
175  pounds,  told  me  the  next  day  that  he  had  to  set 
one  foot  on  the  man  to  hold  him  on  the  ground  be- 
fore he  could  pull  the  arrow  out.  The  next  day  after 
this  man  Forman  was  buried  the  writer  went  and 
brought  his  wife  and  children  to  his  home  and  kept 
them  until  they  could  be  sent  to  their  people  in  Bos- 
que County. 


—58— 


John  Baggett  was  living  on  a little  creek  just 
below  the  junction  of  the  South  and  North  Leon 
Rivers.  This  was  the  next  killing  done  by  the  In* 
dians.  I don’t  remember  just  how  long  it  was  after 
the  killing  of  Forman,  that  the  killing  of  the  Baggett 
children  took  place,  but  it  was  only  a short  time.  Mr. 
Baggett  had  gone  to  Bosqueville,  to  mill ; he  had  left 
his  wife  and  children  at  home  and  had  carried  the 
only  gun  on  the  place  with  him.  It  took  about  three 
days  to  make  the  trip  to  the  mill  and  back.  One  day 
while  he  was  gone  two  of  the  children  were  out  play- 
ing in  the  shade  of  a large  live  oak  tree,  some  100 
yards  from  the  house,  when  a party  of  Indians  rode 
up  around  them.  They  shot  and  killed  the  boy. 
who  was  about  12  years  old,  and  then  just  rode 
around  the  little  girl  and  stuck  the  points  of  their 
arrows  into  her  flesh.  The  mother  called  to  her  to 
run  to  the  house,  which  she  did,  coming  to  the  front 
door.  Her  mother  told  her  to  run  around  to  the  back 
door  as  the  Indians  were  trying  to  shoot  in  at  the 
front  door.  So  when  she  got  the  little  girl  in  and 
closed  the  back  door,  the  Indians  not  knowing  but 
what  she  had  a gun  in  the  house,  left.  Mrs.  Baggett 
had  to  go  out  and  get  her  little  dead  boy  and  stay 
with  him  until  about  9 o’clock  in  the  night.  Just 
think  what  that  poor  old  mother  had  to  endure.  Her 
husband  out  and  she  not  knowing  but  what  he  was 
killed  also  until  he  got  home ; and  think  what  a sad 
thing  it  must  have  been  to  Mr.  Baggett  to  find  his 
little  boy  a corpse,  the  little  girl  with  thirteen  arrow 
wounds  in  her,  and  her  clothes  soaked  in  her  own 
blood,  and  the  mother  grieving  over  her  dead  and 
wounded  children. 


—59— 


There  was  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Hicks, 
who  lived  in  our  settlement.  We  always  called  him 
Uncle  Joe.  He  has  a son  named  Franklin  Hicks  in 
this  county.  The  old  man  had  a negro  man  that  was 
a carpenter.  That  negro  hewed  out  all  the  frame 
timbers  for  the  first  Methodist  Church  house  in  Co- 
manche County.  I do  not  know  whether  the  darkey 
was  coming  to  work  on  the  house  or  not,  but  rather 
think  the  house  was  finished  before  the  negro  was 
killed.  Anyway,  Hicks  had  sent  the  negro  or  start- 
ed him  to  town  for  something  and  when  the  negro 
had  gotten  in  one  and  a half  or  two  miles  of  Coman- 
ehe  town  he  was  attacked  by  a party  of  Indians,  he 
ran  from  them,  trying  to  save  his  life,  but  the  In- 
dians caught  and  killed  and  scalped  him.  This,  I 
think,  was  about  the  last  murder  committed  by  the 
Indians  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

Now  after  telling  of  some  of  the  Indian  killings, 
I will  tell  you  of  some  of  the  trouble  the  old  set- 
tlers had  with  the  negroes  in  this  country.  This 
trouble  began  just  after  the  war  of  1861,  those  things 
that  occurred  after  the  war  are  not  given  of  my  own 
knowledge,  but  I feel  that  I have  it  correct  as  I got  it 
from  men  who  were  eye-witnesses  and  if  I should 
make  any  mistake,  it  will  be  so  near  correct  that  it 
will  amount  to  the  same  thing  in  effect  and  there 
are  plenty  of  people  yet  living  in  Comanche  county 
who  can  testify  to  this  part  of  my  little  history. 

T.  J.  Nabors  was  one  of  the  first  to  settle  in  the 
town  of  Comanche.  He  has  three  sons  living  in  this 
county  yet  and  twTo  daughters,  to-wit : Dora  Green 

and  Francis  Vernon;  had  also  one  other  daughter 


—60— 


whose  whereabouts  I do  not  know  just  at  this  time. 

Uncle  Jack  Nabors,  as  he  was  usually  called, 
built  a frame  house  on  a lot  one  block  south  of  the 
public  square  and  was  running  it  as  a hotel,  this 
was  the  first  of  its  kind  kept  in  the  town.  His  boys 
were  not  large  enough  yet  to  do  the  work  that  he 
had  to  have  done,  so  he  hired  a mulatto  negro  to  do 
the  work  around  the  place,  his  name  was  Mose,  and 
I think  he  belonged  to  Ship  Carnes  before  the  war. 
That  trifling  negro  from  some  cause,  I never  could 
learn  what,  but  guess  it  was  just  because  he  had  got- 
ten his  freedom,  and  wanted  to  do  some  mean  act, 
waited  one  night  until  the  family  and  all  the  board- 
ers wore  fast  asleep,  then  got  the  oil  can  and  threw 
oil  all  over  the  outside  of  the  house  and  set  it  on  fire. 
There  was  a well  right  in  the  “ell”  of  the  house 
where  the  cook  room  ell-ed  off  from  the  main 
building;  there  were  two  buckets  to  draw  water 
with,  and  to  keep  the  family  from  being  able  to  put 
out  the  fire  in  case  they  should  wake  up,  the  negro 
cut  the  rope  and  let  each  bucket,  rope  and  all,  down 
into  the  well  before  he  fired  the  house,  and  after  fir- 
ing the  house  he  went  through  a room  where  two  of 
the  little  boys  were  sleeping,  and  with  a knife  cut 
each  of  the  boys’  throats,  then  lit  out  for  the  woods. 
Some  of  the  family  and  one  of  the  boarders  were 
awakened  by  the  rays  of  the  burning  house  and  rais- 
ed the  alarm  in  time  for  all  that  were  alive  to  get  out 
and  save  their  lives,  and  they  succeeded  in  getting 
the  two  boys  out  that  had  been  killed  before  the  fire 
reached  them.  When  daylight  came  the  whole  town 
was  out  and  searching  the  country  in  every  direction 


— 61 — 


for  the  negro.  They  knew  he  had  done  the  killing 
and  burning,  by  his  being  absent  from  his  place  of 
work  in  the  morning.  I think  the  party  that  found 
the  negro  was  composed  of  Riley  Huffman,  Andy 
Stewart,  Hade  Carnes  and  perhaps  one  or  two  more. 
They  came  up  with  him  about  six  miles  below  Co- 
manche, on  the  east  side  of  Indian  Creek,  and  order- 
ed him  to  stand  until  they  tied  his  hands.  One  of 
the  boys  got  a rein  off  of  his  bridle  and  Andy  Stew- 
art,, I think  it  was,  started  to  walk  up  to  him  with 
the  strap  in  his  hand,  when  the  negro  saw  he  was  go- 
ing to  be  tied  he  drew  a big  knife  and  made  for  the 
man  with  the  tie  strap  in  his  hand,  and  they  said  the 
negro  would  have  killed  him  had  not  one  of  the  boys, 
I think  it  was  Hade  Carnes,  shot  him  down  in  his 
tracks.  Afterwards  they  sent  men  down  where  the 
negro  was  killed  and  dug  a hole  and  rolled  him  in 
and  covered  him  up.  The  land  is  in  cultivation 
where  he  was  buried;  I think  it  is  in  the  northeast 
corner  of  George  Watson’s  farm.  This  was  the  first 
killing  of  a white  person  by  a negro  in  Comanche 
County. 

The  whites  still  put  up  with  a few  negroes  in  this 
county,  hoping  that  old  Mose  was  the  only  real  mean 
one  they  had,  but  still  the  colored  race  kept  emigrat- 
ing until  there  was  a considerable  settlement  of 
negroes  settled  in  the  northeast  corner  of  the  county, 
also  there  were  several  white  people  living  up  in  that 
part  of  the  county,  and  one  day  one  of  the  white  men 
came  to  town  to  get  some  farm  implements;  I can’t 
give  that  man’s  name,  though  there  are  plenty  of 
men  in  the  county  who  knew  him  well ; anyway, 


•62— 


when  he  left  home  his  wife  was  at  the  wash  place 
washing  her  clothes,  and  while  there  washing,  a 
negro  man  came  along  and  began  to  curse  and  abuse 
her  and  finally  killed  her  with  a shotgun.  In  a few 
hours  the  news  reached  her  husband  in  Comanche. 
Then  as  fast  as  the  men  in  town  could  get  their 
horses  saddled,  three  and  four  at  a time  left  at  full 
speed  for  where  this  woman  was  murdered,  some 
fifteen  or  eighteen  miles  from  the  town.  The  news 
soon  reached  all  over  the  county  and  every  man  who 
could  leave  home  or  get  a horse  to  ride  was  in  the 
woods  hunting  for  the  negro.  Finally  one  of  the 
scouts  struck  his  trail  and  stayed  with  it  until  they 
found  the  negro.  I was  not  in  this  county  when 
those  negro  crimes  were  committed.  I can’t  tell  just 
how  long  it  was  from  the  time  the  negro  killed  the 
lady,  I think  it  was  two  days,  at  any  rate  the  crowd 
who  were  hunting  him  soon  got  together.  Now 
reader  I am  not  certain  of  the  fact  but  I think  the 
one  Who  gave  me  the  particulars  said  the  crowd  gave 
the  husband  of  the  murdered  woman  the  right  to  say 
what  sort  of  death  the  negro  should  die.  They  soon 
had  that  part  of  the  business  settled,  and  about  that 
time  the  sheriff  and  a deputy  or  two  rode  up  to  see 
What  to  do  with  the  negro  but  they  soon  found  they 
had  nothing  to  do  with  him.  So  they  rode  off  and 
the  crowd  hung  him  to  a limb.  After  the  negro  was 
hung  one  man  caught  the  attention  of  the  crowd  and 
made  a short  speech  as  follows:  “Boys,  this  is  the 

second  killing  of  white  people  by  the  negroes  and  it 
is  more  than  the  people  of  Comanche  will  put  up 
with,  so  I propose  that  we  give  the  colored  race  a 


—63- 


reason  able  time  to  get  out  of  the  country,  never  to  re- 
turn, and  that  we  never  allow  one  of  the  color  to 
settle  in  the  county.”  After  having  made  his  talk 
he  just  stepped  forward  and  called  out : ‘ ‘Every  man 
who  favors  this  proposition  form  on  my  right,”  and 
it  was  only  a few  seconds  until  they  were  all  in  a 
line.  They  decided  at  once  on  the  number  of  days 
they  would  allow  the  negroes  to  wind  up  their  busi- 
ness and  get  out.  I don’t  know  just  how  many  days 
they  gave  them,  but  was  told  that  some  of  them 
didn’t  claim  more  than  half  of  the  allotted  time.  So 
I can  say  until  the  present  time  that  Comanche  Coun- 
ty is  the  home  of  white  people  strictly,  and  always 
will  be,  and  the  rising  generation  has  just  as  great  a 
dislike  for  the  negroes  as  the  old  settlers  who  drove 
them  out. 

Comanche  Comity  has  a great  deal  of  good  farm- 
ing land  in  it  and  fine  water  and  timber.  This  is 
one  cause  of  land  being  so  high  and  another  cause  is 
that  it  is  a white  man’s  country  strictly,  and  always 
will  be.  There  is  a kind  of  malaria  in  this  county 
that  affects  the  negro  so  suddenly  that  he  can’t  stay 
over  very  long  at  a time.  However,  I don’t  think 
that  any  race  of  people  ought  to  be  mistreated  on  ac- 
count of  their  color,  but  when  they  are  guilty  of  such 
crimes  as  they  were  in  this  county  they  deserved  to 
be  driven  out  and  kept  out. 

When  I first  settled  on  Mountain  Creek,  near 
Newberg,  I did  not  try  to  farm  as  I had  no  family  but 
my  wife  and  self,  so  I would  split  rails  for  those  who 
were  putting  in  farms  through  the  fall  and  winter, 
and  in  the  spring  run  cattle  for  the  cattle  men.  I 


—64— 


remember  one  winter  old  man  Watson,  my  wife’s 
father,  and  myself  split  rails  about  three  weeks  in 
post  oak  timber.  Watson  cut  the  timber  and  I split 
the  rails  and  the  two  of  us  made  some  600  rails  a day 
the  week  round.  This  may  sound  like  a heap  of  rails 
for  two  men  to  make  in  a day,  but  there  are  yet  wit- 
nesses in  Comanche  County  that  will  tell  you  that  we 
did  the  work.  In  the  Spring  when  cow  hunting  be- 
gan, I got  a job,  the  two  years  I lived  on  Mountain 
Creek,  with  Charley  Campbell.  We  used  to  have  a 
great  deal  of  fun  on  our  cow  hunts.  About  as  funny 
a thing  as  I found  on  a cow  hunt  took  place  on  Logan 
Creek  about  a mile  from  where  Joel  Nabors  now 
lives.  A man  by  the  name  of  Allsup,  who  was  about 
40  years  of  age,  had  just  come  from  the  state  of  Mis- 
souri, and  had  been  here  but  a short  time  till  he  mar- 
ried a Miss  Chison,  who  was  about  30  years  old. 
After  getting  married,  having  a little  money,  $400  or 
$500,  and  cattle  being  cheap  those  days,  he  thought 
he  would  invest  in  cattle.  He  bought  about  85  head. 
When  cow  hunting  began  in  the  spring  the  cow  men 
would  always  get  together  when  they  went  on  a five 
or  six  days’  hunt.  So  this  man  Allsup  was  a kind  of 
a fine  haired  man  and  just  married,  also  fresh  from 
the  old  states,  could  not  think  of  setting  down 
around  a camp  fire  and  broiling  meat  and  eating  like 
the  other  cowboys,  had  his  wife  to  bake  him  two 
large  round  pones  of  lightbread  and  grind  up  a lit- 
tle coffee  and  put  in  a little  sack  of  sugar  to  sweeten 
his  coffee,  and  boil  a ham.  He  could  not  think  of 
carrying  his  grub  in  a little  old  black,  greasy  wallet, 
like  the  rest  of  us  did,  so  having  a pair  of  old-time 


-65- 


saddle  pockets  that  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
Missouri,  he  put  the  two  pones  of  lightbread  in  one 
end  of  his  saddle  pockets  and  a boiled  ham  in  the 
other  end  of  the  pockets  and  stuffed  his  sugar  and 
coffee  in  the  corners.  When  we  stopped  for  dinner 
we  all  threw  our  saddles  off  and  made  a fire,  cut 
sticks  and  began  to  broil  meat.  Down  on  the  ground 
we  sat  with  our  meat  and  cold  biscuit  and  black  cof- 
fee and  began  eating.  Some  one  had  missed  Allsup, 
and  looking  around  they  saw  him  about  thirty  steps 
off  in  the  shade  of  a tree,  eating  his  dinner.  That 
night  we  penned  the  cattle  rounded  up  during  the 
day  in  Mr.  Logan’s  pen  and  went  down  on  the  creek 
a little  ways  and  camped  for  the  night.  Allsup 
still  ate  off  to  himself.  We  had  two  boys  with  us, 
and  they  were  mischievous  you  need  not  doubt  it; 
those  boys  were  Lee  Ruberth  and  Bob  Tompstley. 
Lee  Ruberth  is,  or  was  a short  time  back,  living  in 
Coryell  County.  Those  boys  decided  that  night  that 
they  would  have  a little  fun  at  Allsup’s  expense.  So 
they  got  up  the  next  morning  before  daylight  and 
cut  two  small  forks  and  stack  them  in  the  ground 
and  then  they  made  a crank  of  a bent  stick,  like  a 
grindstone  crank,  and  got  one  of  Allsup’s  pones  of 
lightbread  out  of  his  saddle  pocket,  cut  a hole 
through  the  center  of  it,  and  hung  it  like  a grind- 
stone. AVhen  daylight  came  and  the  crowd  began  to 
get  up,  these  two  boys  were  standing  out  a little  to 
one  side  grinding  their  knives  on  Allsup’s  pone  of 
lightbread.  Had  it  ground  about  half  awray.  Of 
course  everybody  began  to  laugh  and  holler  at  the 
sight,  but  Mr.  Allsup  began  to  rave  and  curse  and 


said  that  he  would  whip  them  both.  But  Campbell 
interfered  and  stopped  him  by  telling  him  he  could 
not  hurt  those  boys,  that  if  he  wanted  to  raise  cattle 
and  have  the  help  of  other  cow  men,  he  must  learn 
when  in  Rome  he  must  do  as  the  Romans  do.  So 
Allsup  got  quiet  over  the  matter  and  before  we  got 
off  that  trip  he  would  eat  a piece  of  broiled  beef  at 
the  camp  fire  as  well  as  any  of  the  boys. 

After  the  town  of  Comanche  was  located,  and 
the  business  of  the  county  was  moved  from  Cora,  the 
old  county  seat,  John  McGuyer  was  elected  sheriff. 
He  was  the  third  elected  sheriff  of  the  county.  Be- 
fore that  other  sheriffs  had  no  use  for  a deputy. 
There  were  so  few  people  in  the  county  that  the 
sheriff  could  do  all  the  business  himself,  but  by  this 
time  the  county  had  a considerable  settlement  In  it 
and  John  McGuyer  wanted  a deputy,  and  he  asked 
me  if  I would  serve  as  a deputy.  At  that  time  I was 
living  down  at  Old  Cora.  So  I gave  a $150  bond 
with  Charley  Campbell  and  Ship  Carnes  on  my  bond, 
Sam  Steele,  who  lived  at  Cora,  was  Justice  of  the 
Peace  in  that  beat,  that  portion  being  the  thickest 
settled  part  of  the  county,  it  gave  Steele  and  myself 
quite  a lot  of  business,  and  at  the  time  I did  not  know 
any  of  the  duties  of  the  sheriff’s  office.  But  like 
old  David  Crockett,  I was  determined  to  know  that  I 
was  right  and  then  go  ahead.  At  that  time  there 
was  nothing  like  a printed  form  for  any  kind  of 
business.  So  I went  to  T.  C.  Frost,  a friend  of  mine, 
a young  lawyer,  and  he  to'ld  me  he  would  write  a 
form  for  me  any  time  anything  came  into  my  hand 
that  I did  not  understand.  The  first  papers  that 


—67— 


came  to  me  were  a lot  of  citations.  Of  course  I had 
nothing  to  do  but  hunt  up  the  parties  and  serve  the 
papers  and  make  my  returns  on  the  same ; how  and 
when  I had  served  them.  Soon  I had  a lot  of  notes 
sent  to  me  for  collection,  so  I went  to  see  all  the 
parties  and  some  of  them  paid  their  notes  off  and 
others  I had  to  sue.  One  of  those  notes  was  on  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Tinker  and  in  favor  of  old  Un- 
cle Dick  Carnes.  Tinker  had  left  the  county  and 
was  living  in  McLennan  County.  So  I was  up  against 
it,  now  I could  not  get  him  by  publication,  for  there 
was  not  a paper  published  in  a hundred  miles  of  me. 
I studied  out  this  problem  myself.  I had  Justice 
Steele  to  issue  a citation  for  Tinker  and  I mailed  it 
to  the  sheriff  of  McLennan  County.  When  the  day 
of  trial  came  the  defendant  was  not  there,  so  the 
magistrate  had  to  render  a judgment  in  favor  of 
plaintiff.  The  next  thing  was  an  execution  to  levy 
on  the  property,  and  sell  same  until  the  debt  was 
paid.  I knew  that  Tinker  had  nothing  but  a house 
and  lot  in  the  town  of  Cora.  He  had  a wood  shop  on 
the  same  lot.  I knew  that  he  could  hold  that  as  a 
homestead.  So  I told  Carnes  that  he  would  have  to 
point  out  property,  that  I could  find  nothing  but  his 
homestead.  So  he  said  I could  sell  it,  and  also  said  I 
point  it  out  to  you,  and  order  you  to  levy  on  and  sell 
the  same.  I said  alright  Uncle  Dick  I will  attend  to 
it  at  once.  So  I mounted  my  horse  early  next  morn- 
ing and  lit  out  to  Comanche,  went  into  T.  C.  Frost’s 
office  and  made  my  troubles  known  to  him.  He  said 
I could  sell  the  homestead,  by  having  Carnes  to  sign 
an  indemnity  bond.  I didn’t  know  any  more  what 


-68- 


kind  of  an  instrument  that  was  than  a goose.  I said 
to  Frost:  “What  kind  of  a critter  is  that?”  After 

a big  laugh  he  wrote  forms  for  all  kinds  of  business 
that  was  likelyto  come  into  my  hands  while  discharg- 
ing my  duties  as  deputy  sheriff.  When  I asked 
Carnes  to  sign  this  bond  he  did  not  want  to  do  it. 
But  I told  him  that  I would  not  sell  the  property  un- 
less he  did  so ; he  was  somewhat  bothered  as  well  as 
I had  been,  though  thinking  that  Tinker  would  per- 
haps not  come  back  he  signed  the  bond  and  I adver- 
tised and  sold  the  property. 

When  Tinker  came  home  he  came  to  me  to  know 
how  I had  sold  him  out,  so  I showed  him  the  bond  I 
had  Carnes  to  sign  and  then  he  asked  me  how  to  pro- 
ceed, how  to  get  his  home  back.  By  this  time  I had 
learned  more  about  law  and  business  than  I had  ever 
known  or  perhaps  ever  would  have  known,  if  I had 
not  taken  the  deputyship  as  sheriff ; so  I told  Tinker 
to  go  to  Bany  Ellis  and  file  suit  against  Carnes  for 
damages,  and  he  did  so,  and  in  a few#,  days  a citation 
to  Richard  Carnes  came  to  me  and  as  I lived  in  three 
hundred  yards  of  Carnes,  I just  walked  up  to  his 
house  and  showed  him  the  papers.  He  was  surpris- 
ed. He  said:  “ Cross,  that  house  and  lot  and  every- 

thing on  it  isn’t  worth  $150,  and  he  has  sued  for 
$500  damages.”  I told  him  that  he  was  in  the  hole; 
that  if  I had  sold  that  house  and  lot  like  lie  wanted 
me  to,  it  would  have  had  me  in  the  hole.  I told  him 
there  was  only  one  way  to  get  out  of  it,  and  that  was 
to  compromise  with  Tinker  before  the  day  of  trial. 
He  said  the  old  man  is  mad  now  and  I can’t  do  any- 
thing with  him.  I said,  “Uncle  Dick,  tell  me  what 


—69— 


yo»  are  willing  to  do  and  I will  try  to  get  him  to 
compromise.”  The  debt  that  Tinker  owed  Carnes 
was  $40.00,  and  when  I sold  the  house  and  lot  it 
brought  $75.00.  It  paid  the  debt -and  cost  of  suit, 
leaving  $23.00  that  I had  placed  in  the  hands  of  Un- 
cle Dick  Tomksley,  who  was  the  first  County  Treas- 
urer of  this  County.  Mr.  Carnes  said,  ‘‘I  am  willing 
to  give  him  what  he  is  due  me  ($40.00)  and  turn  his 
stuff  all  back  to  him.”  I told  him  that  I knew  that 
Tinker  would  not  pay  the  cost.  Carnes  then  agreed 
to  settle  the  cost  also.  So  I went  and  told  Mr.  Tinker 
what  Carnes  had  promised  to  do, and  advised  him  to 
accept  it.  He,  Tinker,  was  a little  stubborn  about  it, 
but  when  I told  him  that  when  it  came  into  court  the 
property  would  not  be  valued  at  one-fourth  what  he 
had  sued  for,  and  there  were  some  chances  for  him  to 
have  to  pay  some  of  the  cost ; he  decided  to  compro- 
mise. Uncle  Dick  Carnes  was  sure  he  would  get  the 
place  back  for  $75.00,  as  it  was  his  son-in-law  that 
bought  it  at  the  sheriff’s  sale,  but  I was  told  that  his 
son-in-law,  Tom  Matthews,  made  him  pay  him  $20.00 
before  he  would  give  up  the  house  and  lot,  after  pav- 
ing his  purchase  money  back. 

Now  reader  you  will  pardon  me  for  giving  an  ac- 
count of  my  official  duties  in  those  days.  I only  write 
it  in  defense  of  the  early  settlers  of  Comanche  Coun- 
ty, for  the  people  of  this  county  are  now,  and  always 
have  been,  a law-abiding  people.  The  reason  why  I 
give  this  sketch  is  to  publicly  answer  private  ques- 
tions that  have  been  asked  me  of  men  who  came  into 
this  county  in  later  days.  Those  questions  are  as 
follows:  Did  you  not  often  take  the  law  into  your 


—70- 


own  hands  in  those  early  days,  such  as  having  vigil- 
ant committees  and  organized  mobs?  To  this  I an- 
swer: Nay.  True  I am  frank  to  admit  that  owing 

to  the  blackness  and  awfulness  of  a few  crimes  com- 
mitted in  the  country,  the  good  people  of  the  county 
were  forced  to  reach  out  a little  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  law,  however,  those  cases  were  mostly  among  the 
colored  race  and  have  been  spoken  of  before  in  this 
book. 

The  first  year  of  the  Civil  War  the  Comanche 
boys,  or  at  least  some  of  us,  joined  a regiment  of 
State  soldiers.  Col.  Norris  of  Waco  got  a notice  from 
the  governor  to  get  up  a regiment  for  frontier  pro- 
tection. One  company  was  made  up  of  men  from 
Lampasas,  Coryell  and  Comanche  Counties,  with  a 
few  men  from  Hamilton  County.  We  all  came  to- 
gether in  the  upper  part  of  Hamilton  County  and 
there  elected  our  officers  from  Captain  down  to  Cor- 
poral. Prank  Collier  of  Comanche  Comity  was  elect- 
ed captain  of  the  company.  William  Roag  of  Lam- 
pasas was  elected  first  lieutenant;  William  Perry- 
man, second  lieutenant;  Dr.  Robinson  of  Comanche 
County,  third  lieutenant;  and  below  are  the  names  of 
the  boys  who  went  out  in  this  regiment  from  Co- 
manche County.  It  has  been  so  long  I may  have  for- 
gotten some,  though  I think  I can  name  the  most  of 
them.  They  were  Prank  Collier,  Aaron  Cunning- 
ham, Grandville  Hachworth,  William  Watson,  James 
Sanderford,  Chas.  Isharn,  David  Carnes,  Leonard 
Coker,  Alec  Tuggle,  Dr.  Robinson,  James  Baggett, 
Jack  Wright,  T.  C.  Wright,  T.  M.  Cross,  Levi  Tug- 
gle and  Bob  Marshall.  This  last  man  on  the  list  was 


—71— 


nick-named  while  in  the  army.  He  was  so  dirty  with 
his  cooking  that  the  boys  called  him  Hog  Marshall, 
and  he  went  by  that  name  a long  time  after  the  war. 
He  was  a noble-hearted,  good  boy,  though,  and  when 
it  came  to  fighting  Indians  he  was  always  at  his 
place,  as  cool  and  as  brave  a man  as  Comanche  ever 
sent  out.  Some  of  the  boys  returned  after  the 
twelve  months  were  out,  and  some  went  into  Col.  Mc- 
Cord’s regiment  of  Confederate  soldiers.  Low  Tug- 
gle died  while  in  the  army,  of  winter  fever,  and 
James  Baggett,  while  on  a scout,  got  after  a wild  tur- 
key ; he  ran  up  to  the  turkey  and  the  horse  got  to 
pitching  and  threw  him  off  and  his  gun,  which  was 
hanging  to  the  horn  of  his  saddle,  went  off,  sending 
the  bullet  through  his  head,  killing  him  instantly. 
So  he  and  Low  Tuggle  are  two  of  Comanche’s  brave 
boys  that  are  today  sleeping  in  the  quiet  tombs  at  old 
Camp  Colorado,  in  the  east  edge  of  Coleman  County. 
Low  Tuggle  has  one  brother  and  one  sister  yet  living 
in  Comanche  County.  Thomas  Tuggle  and  Mrs. 
Criswell,  if  any  of  James  Baggett’s  family  are  living, 
I don’t  know  anything  of  them,  he  was  a brother  to 
the  little  Baggett  boy  that  was  killed  by  the  Indians 
on  Leon  River,  which  circumstance  has  already  been 
given  in  this  book. 

I have  written  something  about  the  first  settlers 
of  this  country  and  their  hardships.  I will  now  give 
a short  sketch  of  some  of  their  enjoyments  and 
amusements.  I will  begin  with  Uncle  Ship  Carnes. 
He  was  a great  fellow  for  hunting  and  killing  deer 
and  turkeys  and  while  he  lived  at  Cora  he  killed  a 
great  many  deer.  In  the  summer  season  the  deer 


-72- 


left  the  timber  and  gathered  in  small  bunches  out  on 
the  prairie  between  the  Leon  and  Cowhouse  so  a man 
could  not  slip  up  on  them  to  get  within  rifle-shot. 
They  could  see  a man  a mile  and  a half  in  every  di- 
rection. So  Uncle  Ship  studied  up  a plan  to  get 
close  enough  to  kill  them.  He  got  a large  beef-hide 
and  stretched  it  tight  and  dried  it  until  it  was  a flint 
hide.  Then  he  got  a set  of  plow  harness  and  a single- 
tree and  hitched  his  old  grey  horse  to  the  beef  hide 
and  he  would  go  out  to  the  Cowhouse  prairie  and 
when  he  saw  a bunch  of  deer  he  would  hitch  his  old 
grey  horse  to  the  hide,  put  a small  bell  on  the  horse 
and  sit  down  on  the  hide  and  with  his  rope  line  he 
would  drive  the  horse  up  within  a few  hundred  yards 
of  the  deer,  then  just  sit  there  on  the  hide  with  his 
gun  in  his  hand  and  let  the  horse  graze  around  and 
the  deer  hearing  the  bell  and  seeing  the  horse  would 
let  them  come  up  within  gunshot  and  Carnes  would 
kill  one.  He  seldom  failed  to  get  a deer  when  he 
Avent  out  on  his  beef  hide. 

After  Comanche  became  a right  smart  little  town 
old  Uncle  Ship  Carnes  thought  he  would  try  the  mill- 
ing and  distilling  business  a while,  so  he  went  over  on 
Rush  Creek,  north  of  Comanche,  and  put  up  his  little 
business  and  began  work.  He  had  a span  of  mules 
which  he  thought  a great  deal  of,  to  do  his  hauling 
around  the  place.  Those  mules  were  a very  fine 
span  for  those  days.  Stock  at  that  time  were  not 
graded  up  as  they  are  now.  About  the  same  time 
Ship’s  brother,  Clate  Carnes,  then  a young,  able- 
bodied  man,  settled  a place  not  far  off  and  put  in  a 
nice  little  farm  and  raised  as  fine  corn  as  you  ever 


—73- 


saw.  Ship  Carnes  had  let  his  mules  out  oh  the  range 
for  a while,  having  no  use  for  them.  and  oft#  day 
date  found  Ship’s  mules  in  his  corn  held  when  the 
earn  was  in  full  roasting  ears.  Cl  ate  drove  the 
mules  to  his  brother  and  told  him  he  would  have  to 
keep  them  up,  that  he  had  a good  fence  and  they 
would  just  break  over  anywhere  they  they  came  to 
it.  His  brother,  Ship,  said  he  would  try  to  keep 
them  out.  but  the  next  morning  date  found  the 
mules  in  his  corn  again.  He  took  them  back  to  his 
brother  the  second  time  and  still  when  he  went  to 
his  field  he  found  the  mules  in  his  corn  again,  date 
Carnes  was  always  a man  of  a smooth  temper,  and 
easy  to  get  along  with,  but  by  this  time  he  was  some- 
what stirred  up.  So.  finding  them  in  his  corn  about 
the  third  time,  he  carried  rails  from  the  ontside  and 
built  a square  pen  right  in  the  middle  of  the  corn 
field  and  put  the  mules  in  it.  When  he  had  built  it 
so  high  that  the  mules  could  not  get  their  heads  to 
the  top,  he  carried  heavy  rails  and  locked  the  corners 
good  and  went  on  about  his  business.  So  in  five  or 
six  days  Ship  Carnes  wanted  his  mules  to  haul  some- 
thing, he  went  out  on  the  range  and  could  uot  find 
them.  After  hunting  about  two  days  he  thought 
perhaps  they  had  gotten  into  date’s  field  again,  so 
he  went  to  the  field  and  looked  all  around  the  fence 
for  their  tracks.  He  could  not  see  any  sign  of  them, 
but  just  before  be  left  he  heard  one  of  the  mules  bray 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  field,  so  he  hitched  his 
horse  and  went  into  the  field  afoot;  and  after  hunt- 
ing a good  while  he  came  onto  them  in  the  high  pen. 
He  just  took  his  mules  home  and  never  said  a word 


—74— 


to  Clate  about  it,  neither  did  his  mules  ever  get  into 
date’s  field  any  more.  Somehow  they  got  tired  of 
that  field. 

When  the  war  was  over  and  I came  back  to 
Comanche  County  I bought  a place  of  one  hundred 
and  sixty  acres  of  land  from  Dave  Carnes.  It  lay 
on  South  Leon  about  three  miles  above  Newberg. 
This  was  as  fine  a piece  of  land  as  there  was  in  Co- 
manche County.  It  is  right  in  the  center  of  the  big 
farm  known  as  the  old  Cox  place.  When  I bought 
that  place  it  had  a house  on  it  and  a dug  well  in  the 
yard  and  ten  acres  of  land  in  cultivation.  I bought 
it  for  three  hundred  dollars,  and  every  foot  was  first- 
class  land.  In  the  spring,  after  I had  planted  that 
little  field  in  corn  and  it  was  up  big  enough  to  plow, 
I took  a notion  to  go  down  in  Navarro  County  and 
haul  freight  that  summer  as  there  was  good  money  in 
freighting  .So  I let  a negro  fellow  have  the  corn  to 
cultivate  and  gather  on  the  halves.  The  day  before 
I left  Dave  Carnes  was  over  to  see  me  and  told  me  if 
I would  come  over  to  Comanche  before  I left  he  and 
his  wife  would  sign  a deed  to  the  land,  but  I wanted 
to  get  off  and  told  him  that  we  could  attend  to  that 
in  the  fall  when  I got  back.  So  just  went  on  without 
the  deed. 

I found  Navarro  County  a fine  farming  country 
and  a good  place  to  make  money,  and  I stayed  down 
there  four  years.  However,  the  winter  after  I left 
my  place  in  Comanche  County  I was  going  down  to 
Bryant  Station  after  a load  of  freight  for  Spring  Hill 
and  on  the  way  down  I met  Joel  Nabors.  Dick  Key- 
ser  and  Bob  Marshall  all  loaded  with  freight  for  Co- 


■75— 


manche.  As  it  was  about  dark  when  we  met,  we 
camped  together  for  the  night  and  1 made  Keyser 
agent  for  my  place  in  Comanche  county,  as  lie  lived 
close  by.  I told  him  to  rent  it  for  me  and  look  after 
my  place  till  I came  back;  which  he  agreed  to  do. 
He  asked  me  what  he  should  do  with  the  rent  corn 
that  was  then  on  the  place.  I told  him  to  sell  it  and 
pay  the  money  to  Dave  Carnes.  He  said  there  was 
about  $50.00  worth  of  corn  and  as  he  had  to  buy  corn 
he  would  take  it  and  pay  the  money  to  Carnes.  I 
told  him  to  just  run  the  place  that  way  until  1 moved 
back.  I remained  in  Navarro  County  four  years, 
thinking  what  a nice  place  I had  in  Comanche 
County. 

About  this  time  I got  a letter  from  my  father  in 
Bell  County,  telling  me  that  he  had  a good  stock  of 
cattle  and  was  getting  too  old  to  run  after  them ; that 
if  1 would  come  down  there  and  take  charge  of  the 
cattle  he  would  give  me  a half  interest  in  the  stock. 
I knew  that  was  a good  lay,  so  went  down  to  Bell 
County  and  engaged  in  the  stock  business.  When  I 
reached  Bell  County  and  got  things  shaped  up 
all  right  I went  up  to  Comanche  intending  to  fix  up 
my  land  deed  and  to  try  to  lease  the  place  to  some 
one  for  about  three  years.  I found,  however,  that 
Dave  Carnes’  wife  had  died  and  the  deed  was  in  a 
little  girl  who  had  grown  up  to  womanhood;  the 
place  that  I had  lost  by  a little  negligence  was  then 
worth  a thousand  dollars.  Today  it  is  worth  six  or 
seven  thousand  dollars. 

There  are  also  six  acres  of  land  lying  in  the  cen- 
ter of  Alvin’s  farm  at  Old  Cora,  just  east  of  the  pub- 


76- 


lie  well,  that  .justly  belongs  to  me.  I bought  it  from 
T.  C.  Frost  and  paid  him  the  money  for  it.  I had  a 
deed  to  that  place,  although  I had  not  put  it  on  re- 
cord. Also  my  father  had  about  thirty-three  acres 
of  land  where  the  first  steam  mill  in  the  county  was 
built.  It  lay  on  each  side  of  the  river.  If  he  ever 
sold  that  place  I have  no  knowledge  of  it,  although 
he  may  have  sold  it  in  the  time  of  the  war,  but 
the  record  doesn’t  show  any  deed  from  J.  M.  Cross 
to  anyone  for  that  land.  So  you  see  what  a little 
carelessness  does  for  a man.  I have  no  kick  coming, 
however,  it  was  all  my  own  fault.  If  there  is  any- 
thing that  I hate  to  hear,  it  is  a chronic  growler.  It 
is  all  gone  and  I am  still  living  and  as  happy  as  a 
big  sunflower. 

Now  reader  allow  me  to  write  a page  or  two  on 
corrections  of  a few  things  I have  written  in  giving 
the  early  history  of  Comanche  County.  One  of  these 
mistakes  was  in  the  write-up  of  the  negro  burning 
Nabors’  house.  Joel  Nabors  tells  me  that  the  negro 
also  killed  two  colored  girls  in  the  house  and  the 
building  burned  down  on  them.  I had  heard  that 
before,  although  I had  not  put  it  in  the  first  write-up. 
Also  that  it  was  George  McCarney  and  Guy  Carnes 
who  were  with  Hod  Carnes  when  the  negro  was  kill- 
ed. These  are  the  men  instead  of  Andrew  Stewart 
and  Riley  Huffman.,  as  I had  first  given  it.  Also  in 
the  case  of  the  negro  killing  the  white  lady  in  the 
county  up  north  of  Comanche,  Joel  Nabors  told  m« 
that  her  husband  was  named  Williams.  After  seeing 
Nabors  I met  another  man  who  told  me  that  the  man 
was  named  Stevens  and  he  affirmed  it  by  saying  that 


— 77 — 

he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about  for  he  was  at  the 
hanging  of  the  negro;  so  I just  gave  it  as  I got  it. 
They  both  agreed  on  the  lady  being  the  daughter  ®f 
Mr.  Hulsey,  who  is  yet  living  in  this  county. 

Now  to  the  people  of  Comanche  County  who 
may  read  this  book.  I will  just  say  that  I have  only 
written  of  the  early  settling  of  the  county  and  given 
a description  of  the  county,  the  early  prices  of  laud 
and  the  wonderful  supply  of  wild  game  and  the  In- 
dian troubles  that  occurred  while  I was  living  in  the 
County.  So  I will  now  ring  off  for  a while,  as  I want 
to  write  up  the  early  history  of  Brown  County.  I 
will  have  to  speak  of  some  things  that  oceured  in 
Comanche  County  while  writing  up  other  counties. 
If  any  of  the  old  settlers  of  Comanche  County  Ind 
any  errors  in  the  record  of  facts  given,  they  wiM 
know  it  is  an  honest  mistake,  as  it  amounts  t©  the 
same  in  substance. 


BROWN  COUNTY. 


I will  now  try  to  give  you  some  of  the  ♦arly  hap- 
penings of  Brown  County.  I have  written  mp  the 
early  days  of  Milam,  Bell,  Lampasas,  Coryell,  Ham- 
ilton and  Comanche  counties  and  can  say  of  a truth 
that  Milam  County  was  the  only  one  of  the  group 
mentioned  that  was  organized  or  had  aayeat  Mwing 


-78- 


in  it  when  I first  came.  Brown  County  had  a few 
families  to  settle  there  while  I was  living  in  Coman- 
che, although  I had  scouted  the  country  over  before 
a white  man  ever  settled  in  that  section.  So  I think 
I can  give  a very  correct  history  of  its  early  days. 

The  first  parties  to  settle  on  the  Bayou,  near 
where  Brownwood  now  is,  were  Judge  Fisk,  Col. 
Adams  and  Welcome  Chandler.  Chandler  lived  on 
the  east  side  of  the  Bayou  on  what  is  now  known  as 
the  Swinden  Farm.  Fisk  and  Adams  lived  on  the 
west  side  of  the  Bayou.  The  town  now  covers  each 
of  their  places.  When  Judge  Fisk  was  building  his 
roek  house  in  time  of  the  war  someone  asked  him 
why  did  he  cover  one  side  of  the  house  with  pine 
shingles.  He  said  because  he  wanted  to  see  which 
would  last  the  longest,  so  he  would  know  which  to 
use  in  the  future.  He  was  then  seventy  years  old ; 
he  was  always  a lively  and  good  humored  old  man. 
The  old  stone  building  is  still  standing  and  I suppose 
the  shingles  are  alright  yet. 

The  first  hotel  in  Brownwood  was  erected  and 
kept  by  one  Mr.  Hodge.  He  was  the  husband  of 
Grandma  Hodge,  who  is  still  living  in  Brownwood. 
The  house  had  the  name  of  the  Star  Hotel.  Mrs. 
Hodge  is  still  enjoying  reasonably  good  health,  and  is 
very  interesting  to  anyone  when  talking  of  the  early 
days.  She  is  loved  by  every  one  who  knows  her; 
and  just  here  I want  to  say  that  the  ladies  of  the 
early  settling  of  our  country  deserve  as  much  credit 
for  their  heroism  as  the  men,  for  they  really  had  the 
hardest  cross  to  bear,  to  stay  at  home  and  take  care 
of  things  while  the  men  were  after  the  Indians. 


-79- 


Brown  County  was  partly  organized  three  years 
before  the  war  began  though  it  was  not  completed 
until  after  the  close  of  the  war.  I know  the  first 
District  Court  that  was  held  after  the  war  was  three 
miles  below  where  the  town  now  is.  The  county 
seat  was  first  located  down  there  on  old  Uncle  Billy 
Connell’s  place.  It  was  there  that  the  first  District 
Court  was  held  and  at  the  time  I was  living  on  the 
Jim  Ned,  near  Thrifty.  Mr.  McCulloch  and  myself 
were  summoned  on  the  Petit  Jury.  So  when  the 
Court  convened  we  were  there.  The  Court  House 
was  a little  log  cabin  about  three  hundred  yards  from 
Billy  Connell’s  house.  After  the  Judge  had  charged 
the  Grand  Jury  he  called  up  the  Petit  Jury  and 
called  over  the  list  and  we  all  answered  to  our  names, 
then  the  court  adjourned  until  nine  o’clock  next 
morning.  The  judge  and  the  attorney  and  lawyers 
all  went  out  to  Mr.  Connell’s  for  the  night,  and  the 
rest  of  us  who  were  summoned  to  attend  court  just 
camped  at  the  court  house.  We  took  our  horses 
across  a slough  and  hobbled  them  in  a low  valley. 
We  thought  we  had  them  hidden  from  the  Indians, 
but  were  mistaken,  for  the  next  morning  we  found 
that  the  Indians  had  been  among  them  and  had  stolen 
my  horse  and  Mr.  McCulloch’s.  Those  two  horses 
had  gotten  out  on  the  high  ground.  They  did  not 
find  the  rest  of  the  horses.  So  Mack  and  I borrowed 
horses  from  Brooks  Lee  and  Dan  Moseley  and  David 
Lee  went  with  us  .We  hit  their  trail  and  found  that 
they  had  crossed  the  Bayou  and  were  making  down 
the  divide  between  Indian  Creek  and  the  Bayou. 
After  about  six  miles  the  trail  turned  east,  we  then 


—86— 


k®ew  that.  they  were  going  down  the  country  to  steal 
m*r*  horses.  So  we  kept  the  trail  and  it  went  right 
«4own  that  high  bluff  by  Dick  Grady’s  house.  We 
fallowed  the  trail  on  below  where  Goldthwaite  now 
is.  Dan  Mosley  was  almost  equal  to  a bloodhound 
oh  a trail,  though  here  they  began  to  scatter,  so  we 
oeuld  not  trail  them  any  further.  We  then  notified 
the  few  settlers  that  we  saw  that  the  Indians  were 
ija  the  country,  and  turned  back  for  home.  On  our 
way  back  we  struck  another  trail  going  out  from  the 
settlements  and  followed  it  until  we  came  to  where 
the  Indians  camped  all  night.  There  we  found  that 
we  were  on  a cold  trail,  so  turned  back.  We  were 
then  up  on  Clear  Creek.  When  we  got  back  to  the 
Mullens  ranch,  what  is  now  called  Thrifty,  McCul - 
loeh  and  myself  stopped  at  home  and  sent  our  borrow- 
ed horses  home  by  Moseley  and  Lee.  I have  never 
heard  from  that  term  of  District  Court  from  the  day 
I left  until  now.  If  I was  fined  for  my  non-attend- 
anee  the  next  morning  I have  not  yet  been  notified 
ef  the  fact. 

In  the  winter  of  1861  my  father,  Kingsbury  and 
myself,  all  then  living  in  Comanche  County,  thought 
we  would  buy  a drove  of  hogs  and  fatten  them  for 
the  market,  after  driving  them  to  Chappel  Hill,  in 
Washington  County.  So  Ave  went  up  in  BroAvn 
County  to  buy  the  hogs.  There  we  made  headquar- 
ters at  Mr.  Chandler’s,  about  a mile  Bast  of  Avhere 
Browmvood.  now  is,  on  the  east  side  of  the  Bayou. 
Chandler  had  a stock  field,  and  when  we  bought  a 
bunch  of  hogs  Ave  had  them  delivered  in  that  field. 
We  got  about  a hundred  and  fifty  head  and  drove 


—81- 


them  down  to  old  Uncle  Billy  Brown’s  and  penned 
there  the  first  night,  going  from  there  on  to  Chappel 
Hill.  I only  speak  of  this  hog  business  that  the 
reader  may  know  that  I was  here  and  that  I knew 
who  else  was  here  at  that  time.  I bought  hogs  from 
every  man  on  the  Bayou,  who  were  as  follows : 
Chandler,  Adams,  Harris,  Clemons,  Boberts,  Baugh, 
Anderson  and  Press  Brewer.  Those  are  the  men  we 
saw  on  that  trip.  There  were  a few  more  families 
above  and  below  on  the  Bayou,  also  some  settlers  out 
on  small  creeks  in  the  country.  Before  the  country 
was  settled  up  the  Pecau  Bayou  valley  was  the  most 
beautiful  scene  I ever  saw.  There  was  no  brush  on 
it.  You  could  see  a turkey  as  far  as  your  eyes  could 
tell  what  it  was.  After  the  country  had  begun  to 
settle  and  the  fire  was  kept  out,  we  did  not  have  the 
prairie  grass  burned  off.  It  was  then  that  the  mes- 
quite  timber  began  to  grow  up.  In  a few  years  the 
Bayou  valley  was  a solid  mesquite  growth  large 
enough  to  make  fence  posts.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
way  of  land  marks  in  the  country  today  that  looks 
anything  like  what  they  used  to  except  the  little 
round  mountain  and  the  bluff  with  those  little  red 
sand  rocks  on  them. 

The  first  Indian  fight  that  occurred  in  Brown 
County  after  it  was  organized  was  in  the  valley 
south  of  Welcome  Chandler’s.  The  place  is  now 
called  the  Swinden  farm.  One  of  Mr.  Chandler’s 
negroes  saw  the  Indians  rounding  up  the  horses  in 
the  valley  and  gave  the  alarm.  There  was  Sut.  Har- 
ris and  three  or  four  other  men  at  the  house,  but 


—82— 


they  had  nothing  besides  their  side  arms,  no  long- 
range  guns.  They  went  out  to  attack  the  Indians, 
but  they  were  too  strong  for  them,  and  soon  forced 
them  to  get  back  to  the  house.  The  Indians  took  the 
horses  and  went  up  the  Bayou  on  the  east  side,  going 
in  the  direction  of  Delaware.  After  they  had  gone 
six  or  seven  miles  they  came  across  Capt.  John  Con- 
nor and  two  other  men,  who  were  traveling  a trail 
leading  from  Comanche  to  Old  Colorado  Post.  The 
Indians  charged  them,  and  shot  one  of  Conner’s  men, 
badly  wounding  him.  At  the  first  of  the  fight  the 
other  man,  1 think  his  name  was  Williams,  in  order 
to  defend  his  wounded  companion,  dismounted  and 
killed  one  Indian.  The  Indians  succeeded  in  getting 
his  horse,  and  then  left  them.  The  wounded  man 
was  taken  to  Chandler’s  house,  where  he  lay  about 
three  months  before  he  recovered.  I was  traveling 
that  trail  a few  days  after  the  fight  and  found  some 
of  Capt.  Conner’s  papers  scattered  on  the  battle 
ground. 

The  first  trouble  that  occurred  among  the  early 
settlers  of  this  country,  in  which  firearms  were  used, 
was  between  Sut  Harris  and  Bural  Roberts,  which 
ended  in  Harris  shooting  and  killing  Roberts,  and  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Anderson  shot  Harris,  inflicting 
a wound  from  which  he  died  in  a few  days.  Ander- 
son seemed  not  to  be  concerned  in  the  difficulty  ; why 
he  shot  Harris  no  one  could  tell.  Anderson  left  the 
country  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  The 
next  killing,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  was 
Clements  and  Isaacs.  This  took  place  on  the  Bayou 


at  Clements’  house, . a boat  oae  and  one-half  miles 
above  Brownwood.  I think  Isaacs  was  a brother  to 
Clements'  wife.  I never  knew  what  brought  up  the 
difficulty,  though  Isaacs  had  been  living  with  Clem- 
ents for  a long  time  and  was  an  old  bachelor.  The 
difficulty  arose  at  the  dinner  table,  they  both  sprang 
tip  from  the  table  with  knives  in  their  hands,  and  cut 
each  other  to  death,  both  dying  at  once. 

Brown  County  was  settled  up  as  a general  thing 
by  a high-minded  class  of  citizenship,  and  at  this 
writing,  with  its  vastly  increased  population,  they 
are  still  considered  a law-abiding  people.  The 
county  officers  always  used  their  best  endeavors  to 
try  to  keep  down  crime,  but  for  a few  years,  be- 
tween 18S0  and  1887.  there  was  considerable  trouble 
between  the  stockmen  and  the.  farmers,  mostly  caus- 
ed by  the  country  being  fenced  up  with  barbed  wire. 
It  resulted  in  the  death  of  several  men.  and  a long 
law  suit  for  many  others.  I shall  not  try  to  give  any 
of  the  particulars  of  this  trouble  for  two  reasons ; 
first,  that  1 was  living  in  Bell  County  at  that  time, 
and  only  got  what  I know  from  heresay.  The  news- 
papers did  not  say  much  about  it.  This  is  my  reason 
for  not  giving  any  names  or  particulars.  My  other 
reason  is  that  these  old  troubles  have  passed  away, 
the  tomahawk  buried,  doth  rest  in  the  ground,  and 
peace  and  good  will  prevail  among  the  people;  so  I 
leave  everything  quiet  as  it  is. 

Now  as  to  the  spiritual  interests  of  Brown  Coun- 
ty in  its  early  days:  The  first  Methodist  preacher 

was  called  Brother  H.  Childress ; he  was  sent  to  the 


extreme  frontier,  and  was  better  known  in  those  days 
as  the  “bear  hunter  preacher.’’  His  appointments 
on  the  circuit  were  as  follows:  First  at  the  Beazley 

crossing  on  the  Colorado  River;  from  there  down  the 
river  to  Hanna  Valley,  what  is  now  called  Regency  ; 
then  down  to  a private  house  near  the  old  Williams 
ranch;  from  there  around  by  Blanket  Springs;  then 
up  the  Bayou  by  Clements’  house,  above  Brown- 
wood;  and  from  there  to  his  last  appointment  at  John 
Mullens’  ranch  near  Thrifty.  At  this  place  the  first 
Methodist  church  in  Brown  County  was  organized. 
There  are  five  of  those  old  members  yet  living,  to- 
wit:  , Mrs.  Mullens,  the  wife  of  Uncle  Billie  Mullens, 
of  Lampasas  County;  Jane  Cross,  wife  of  R.  Y.  Cross, 
who  lives  with  Neal  Shore  three  miles  above  Thrifty ; 
John  Mullens  and  wife  living  near  Thrifty,  and  my- 
self. living  at  Blanket.  I am  glad  to  say  that  those 
old  members  all  have  a bright  hope  of  a very  near 
future. 

Just  after  the  close  of  the  war  I went  with  Bro. 
Childress  the  whole  round  on  his  circuit,  as  the  In- 
dians were  often  passing  through  the  country  and 
everybody  had  to  carry  arms.  This  old  preacher  al- 
ways carried  a shotgun  and  a six-shooter.  I saw  him 
often  go  into  the  house  where  he  was  to  preach  on 
Sunday  and  set  his  gun  up  against  the  wall  and  lay 
his  six-shooter  down  under  the  table,  get  out  his  book 
and  go  to  preaching.  It  did  not  seem  to  embarras 
him  in  any  way. 

The  first  camp  meeting  held  in  the  county  was 
on  Jim  Ned  Creek  about  one  and  a half  miles  above 
Thrifty.  It  was  conducted  by  Elder  Johnson,  of 


-85- 


Meridian,  and  Rev.  Groves,  of  Comanche.  Johnson 
was  the  first  elder  that  presided  in  the  county.  Un- 
cle Charley  Mullins,  who  is  the  father  of  John  Mul- 
lins, of  Thrifty,  was  at  that  meeting.  He  had  been 
blind  for  years,  but  was  full  of  life  and  enjoyed  the 
meeting  as  well  as  any  of  the  young  people.  This 
camp  meeting  took  place  during  the  first  year  after 
the  war. 

Now  after  having  given  this  sketch  history  of 
seven  comities,  beginning  at  Milam  and  closing  with 
Brown  County,  the  rest  of  this  book  will  be  of  inci- 
dents I did  not  get  as  I first  wrote  up  the  counties. 
Those  things  that  have  come  to  my  mind  since  I be- 
gan the  work.  1 will  also  tell  some  things  that  oc- 
curred in  the  time  of,  and  just  after  the  war,  though 
the  facts  will  all  be  connected  with  these  counties, 
and  will  be  as  interesting  as  any  other  part  of  the 
book. 

Every  history  and  sketch  that  I have  ever 
seen  have  given  great  honor  to  the  old  men  who  came 
to  Texas  in  the  early  days,  drove  the  Indians  out  of 
the  country  and  brought  about  civilization,  opening 
up  the  way  for  those  who  came  later  on  and  for  the 
rising  generation  of  the  grand  State  of  Texas.  Yet 
I have  never  seen  a word  of  credit  spoken  for  the 
women  of  the  early  settlers,  who,  I think,  are  entitled 
to  as  much  honor  and  credit  as  the  men,  if  not  more. 
Now  I want  to  say  just  here,  that  the  old  settlers’ 
wives  and  daughters  had  just  as  hard  a time  as  the 
men.  There  was  Miss  Whitney,  the  young  lady  who 
was  murdered  in  the  school  house  in  Hamilton  Coun- 
ty. She  could  have  left  the  house  and  taken  shelter 


-86- 


in  the  bottoms  and  thickets  on  the  creek.  She  would 
rant  leave  the  small  children  to  be  killed,  but  sent  the 
larger  children  to  the  brush  and  stayed  and  sacrificed 
her  own  life  for  the  little  children.  No  man  ever 
made  a greater  sacrifice  than  she  did.  Another  inci- 
dent was  that  of  Mrs.  Taylor,  of  Bell  County;  when 
the  Indians  were  all  around  trying  to  get  to  the  door 
and  break  into  the  house  and  Mr.  Taylor  and  the 
boys  watching  at  the  port  holes  with  their  guns 
standing  the  Indians  off  as  best  they  could,  this  Mrs. 
Taylor  was  moulding  bullets  for  the  old  man  and 
boys,  and  when  the  Indians  fired  the  east  end  of  the 
building  and  it  burned  to  the  little  ball  between  there 
and  the  room  they  were  in,  Mrs.  Taylor  lay  her  bul- 
let moulds  down  and  drew  the  dining  table  up  in  the 
corner;  standing  on  the  table  she  opened  a hole 
through  the  roof  and  had  the  children  hand  her  what 
water  they  had ; when  the  water  gave  out  she  called 
for  all  the  milk  they  had  in  the  house  and  with  that 
she  put  the  fire  out,  so  saving  the  whole  family  from 
perishing  in  the  flames.  Just  think  of  that  old  lady 
standing  on  the  table  with  her  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  roof  and  the  Indians  shooting  arrows  at 
her  all  the  time  she  was  putting  out  the  fire.  No 
man  ever  had  more  presence  of  mind  or  took  more 
desperate  chances  than  that  old  woman. 

I have  just  taken  those  two  circumstances  the 
second  time  in  order  to  illustrate  what  I have  to  say 
of  the  women.  All  the  incidents  in  this  chapter  are 
things  that  happened  right  along  in  the  counties  I 
am  giving  the  history  of.  There  never  was  a time 
when  the  Indians  made  a raid  on  the  settlements  that 


—87— 


the  women  did  not  suffer  as  much  as  the  men,  if  not 
from  loss  of  blood,  it  was  from  loss  of  sleep  and  un- 
easiness. Just  think  of  the  old  lady  Baggett,  of  Co- 
manche County,  standing  watch  over  her  murdered 
boy  for  several  hours  before  she  had  anyone  to  help 
her  bear  her  burden.  I honestly  believe,  from  what 
I have  read  in  the  history  of  the  Indian  Depredations 
in  Texas,  that  there  has  been  as  much  suffering 
among  the  women  as  there  was  among  the  men. 

In  the  year  1866  I moved  from  Brown  to  Na- 
varro County.  In  the  fall  of  1871  I moved  back  to 
Bell  County.  By  this  time  it  was  a considerable 
farming  country.  The  greater  part,  of  the  county 
was  yet  open  and  free  to  stock.  For  about  four  years 
I was  in  the  cattle  business.  My  wife  became  afflict- 
ed with  a trouble  which  ran  into  consumption.  I 
knew  she  could  not  last  long  and  I could  not  look 
after  my  cattle  and  wait  on  her,  so  I sold  out  my  en- 
tire stock  to  a party  of  northern  men.  I trusted 
them  for  eight  thousand  dollars  which  they  complete- 
ly beat  me  out  of,  leaving  me  flat  broke,  still  by  good 
management  I have  held  my  own  ever  since.  In  the 
winter  of  1875,  having  lost  my  wife  and  being  in  a 
pretty  hard  shape,  financially.  I came  back  to  Brown 
County  and  worked  that  winter  and  the  next  spring 
for  my  brother,  W.  B.  Cross.  His  oldest  son,  J.  R. 
Cross,  came  with  me  from  Bell  County.  My  brother 
had  not  yet  moved  his  family  from  Bell  County  J. 
R.  and  myself  improved  his  place.  It  is  the  place 
that  J.  R.  Cross  now  lives  on.  While  up  there  that 
year  I got  acquainted  with  several  people  who  had 
come  in  after  I had  left  there.  At  this  place  my 


-88- 


brother,  W.  B.  Cross,  had  bought  2,500  acres  of  land 
from  Judge  Fisk.  His  son-in-law,  Dr.  Lane,  purchas- 
ed a little  place  on  the  same  tract  of  land.  lie  had 
built  a little  log  house  on  this  place  and  moved  his 
family  up  there.  J.  R.  Cross  and  myself  boarded 
with  him  while  we  were  at  work  for  my  brother.  At 
that  time  the  citizens  living  in  that  community  were 
as  follows : Dr.  Lane,  Mick  Stover,  Ike  Stover,  Joe 
Rennick  and  old  Uncle  Van.  I have  forgotten  his 
given  name.  On  McAnnally  Creek  was  old  Capt. 
Woods,  W.  M.  Bratton,  Thomas  Inman,  Louis  Mc- 
Cord, and  Sam  Hodge.  Between  this  settlement  and 
Brownwood  was  one  house,  that  was  where  Dan 
Mosely  lived.  Just  about  the  time  I left  R.  D.  For- 
sythe moved  into  this  settlement  and  settled  the 
place  he  is  now  on.  Forsythe  was  one  of  the  best 
financiers  that  ever  struck  this  country.  When 
he  landed  here  he  was  comparatively  a poor  man, 
but  being  strictly  honest  in  his  dealings  with  every- 
body was  soon  in  good  circumstances.  Should 
he  or  any  of  his  offspring  read  this  book  I 
don’t  want  them  to  think  that  I am  writing  this  as 
flattery.  I know  just  what  I am  writing.  There 
never  was  a man  that  was  trying  to  live  right,  I care 
not  what  his  troubles  were,  if  he  went  to  R.  D.  For- 
sythe he  got  the  help  he  wanted. 

Now  as  I am  writing  up  Brown  County,  and 
have  before  said  that  everything  in  this  book  would 
be  of  my  own  personal  knowledge,  I will  state  here 
that  the  last  desperate  murdering  by  the  Indians  that 
took  place  in  Brown  County  before  the  war,  has  been 
written  up  for  a Brownwood  paper  by  a friend  and 


—89— 


Brownwood  man,  Mr.  Henry  Ford,  (whose  death 
occurred  on  the  10th  of  March  of  this  year)  and  as  I 
was  at  that  time  in  Comanche  County,  I feel  assured 
that  Mr.  Ford  has  it  more  correct  than  I can  give  it. 
Having  a copy  of  this  paper  before  me,  I will  give 
the  story  just  as  he  gave  it,  knowing  it  to  be  correct: 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  JACKSON  FAMILY. 

“In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1858  a man  by  the 
name  of  Jackson,  with  his  family,  settled  at  what  was 
afterwards  known  as  the  Jackson  Springs,  then  in 
Brown  County,  now  in  Mills.  The  family  consisted 
of  himself,  his  wife,  one  daughter  18  years  of  age, 
and  three  small  children,  ranging  in  ages  from  7 to 
12  years.  Late  in  the  fall  of  that  year,  Mr.  Jackson 
took  his  family  out  pecan  hunting,  intending  to  go  to 
a place  on  the  Bayou  where  A1  Jay  and  Chas.  Kirk- 
patrick were  getting  out  board  timber.  They  had 
reached  the  middle  of  the  Jackson  valley,  about  two 
and  a half  miles  from  home,  when  they  were  surpris- 
ed by  a band  of  Indians,  who  brutally  murdered  the 
father,  mother,  daughter  and  youngest  child,  and 
carried  off  the  older  children,  a boy  and  a girl.  When 
the  victims  were  discovered  soon  after  by  the  Kirk- 
patricks their  mutilated  bodies  presented  a ghastly 
spectacle.  The  young  lady  had  been  treated  with 
horrible,  fiendish  cruelty  and  was  found  a short  dis- 
tance from  the  others  with  her  throat  cut.  The 


-90- 


alarm  was  given  and  a runner  sent  to  Camp  Colo- 
rado to  notify  the  soldiers  who  were  stationed  there. 
They  immediately  responded,  and  Sergeant  Alby, 
with  fifteen  men,  started  out  to  take  the  trail ; the 
scattered  neighbors  gathered  to  perform  the  sad  task 
of  burying  the  dead.  Wrapped  in  blankets  the 
bodies  were  buried  where  they  fell ; the  father  and 
mother  in  one  grave  and  the  two  others  in  another. 
These  lonely  graves  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Jack- 
son  valley — mute  witnesses  of  the  danger  which  be- 
set the  path  of  the  early  settlers. 

The  Indians  continued  their  raid  into  Coryell 
County  stealing  horses  and  on  their  way  back  cross- 
ed the  mountains  near  Mercer’s  Gap  into  Brown 
County.  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  day  they  crossed 
the  mountains  the  mail  carrier  between  Meridian 
and  Brownwood,  passing  through  Mercer’s  Gap,  saw 
them.  He  turned  back  to  Elijah  Barcroft’s  place  on 
Mercer’s  Creek  and  gave  the  alarm.  The  next  day 
Mr.  Barcroft,  Jas.  Barcroft,  Dan  Cox,  (who  was  af- 
terwards killed  in  the  Dove  Creek  fight)  Thos.  Dea- 
ton. Win.  Clements,  Jesse  Bonds,  John  Carnes,  Jas. 
Holmsley,  Sim  Welch,  Frank  Collins,  Lon  Price  and 
two  other  men  whose  names  we  have  been  unable  to 
obtain,  all  from  Comanche  County,  took  the  trail  in 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  They  decided  that  six 
of  their  number  go  to  Salt  Gap,  which  was  then  a 
noted  Indian  pass-way,  in  hope  of  intercepting  them. 
The  other  seven  men  followed  the  trail.  When  near 
Salt  Gap  the  six  men  saw  the  Indians  going  into 
Camp  on  the  bank  of  a Creek  at  a Spring.  The 
whites  dropped  back  out  of  sight  into  a ravine  which 


91— 


they  followed  until  close  to  the  Indians.  There  they 
remained  until  everything  was  silent  in  the  Indian 
camp,  when  they  took  a survey  of  the  situation,  and 
in  doing  so  ran  into  the  Indians’  horse  herd,  thirty  in 
number,  which  were  quietly  grazed  out  of  hearing  of 
the  sleeping  Indians;  they  drove  them  back  to 
Blanket  Creek,  left  them  there  and  returned  to  the 
ravine.  At  day-break  they  charged  the  Indians  who 
were  up  and  getting  breakfast.  The  Indians  were 
taken  completely  by  surprise.  Don  Cox  killed  one, 
who  fell  dead  in  the  creek.  The  others  succeeded  in 
gaining  the  shelter  of  a near-by  thicket,  except  one 
who  faced  the  whites,  and  standing  over  the  dead 
body  of  his  comrade  discharged  arrows  so  fast  and 
with  such  accuracy  of  aim  that  the  whites  were  forc- 
ed to  take  to  the  shelter  of  trees.  He  put  eighteen 
arrows  into  a tree  behind  which  Wm.  Clements  was 
standing,  and  one  through  his  clothes.  Tom  Deaton 
also  had  one  shot  through  his  clothes.  Jesse  Bonds 
was  shot  in  the  breast  The  arrow  coming  out 
through  his  back.  Bonds,  though  desperately  wound- 
ed, finally  recovered.  The  Indian’s  supply  of  arrows 
was  soon  exhausted,  and  he  then  made  a dash  for  the 
thicket,  badly  wounded.  The  whites  withdrew  and 
not  having  tasted  food  since  leaving  home,  they 
started  back  on  the  trail.  At  Cox’s  Gap  they  met 
about  thirty  men  from  Coryell  County,  who  were 
following  the  trail.  From  these  men  they  learned 
that  the  Jackson  family  had  been  murdered,  also  that 
the  Indians  had  divided  near  Cox’s  Gap,  a part  of  the 
band  diverging  a little  to  the  south.  It  was  then 
decided  that  the  children  must  be  with  the  Indians 


— 92 — 


who  went  in  the  southerly  direction,  as  they  were  not 
seen  during  the  fight.  The  Coryell  men  being  well 
supplied  with  provisions,  rested  long  enough  to  eat  a 
hasty  meal  and  went  back  to  where  the  fight  took 
place,  incidentally  to  look  up  the  dead  Indians  and 
see  if  any  more  had  been  killed.  From  there  they 
went  south  down  Salt  Creek  until  they  found  the 
other  trail,  followed  it  about  two  miles  and  found 
where  they  had  camped  the  night  before.  The  camp 
showed  evidences  of  having  been  hastily  abandoned. 
They  then  scattered  out,  following  the  general  direc- 
tion of  the  trail.  A short  distance  further  one  of  the 
men  thought  he  saw  a human  face  peering  from  a 
thicket.  This  he  communicated  to  the  others,  the 
thicket  was  at  once  surrounded  but  no  signs  if  life 
could  be  seen.  Two  men  were  detailed  to  crawl  into 
the  thicket.  They  had  not  gone  far  when  they  dis- 
covered the  two  children  trying  to  cover  themselves 
with  leaves.  The  children  were  overjoyed  at  finding 
themselves  among  white  men  and  the  pathetic  scene 
that  followed  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten  by  the 
men  who  were  present.  The  children  were  worn  out 
with  their  terrible  experience  and  the  exhausting 
trip  they  had  made.  The  little  girl’s  back  was  cov- 
ered with  freshly  made  scars  where  she  had  been 
prodded  with  arrows  to  make  her  keep  up.  From 
the  boy  it  was  learned  that  when  the  fight  com- 
menced with  the  other  band  of  Indians  the  shooting 
could  be  plainly  heard  and  the  Indians  they  were 
with  became  very  much  excited  and  hastily  broke 
camp,  leaving  them  there.  The  boy  and  his  sister 
sought  the  shelter  of  the  thicket  in  which  they  were 


•93— 


found,  crawled  into  it  and  fell  asleep.  Being  awak- 
ened by  the  noise  of  the  passing  horsemen,  the  boy 
peered  out,  and  thinking  that  the  Indians  were  com- 
ing back  for  them  they  undertook  to  cover  them- 
selves with  leaves.  The  two  children  having  been  re- 
covered, the  whole  party  returned  home.  Soon  after 
a married  brother  came  after  the  children  and  took 
them  to  his  home  near  Round  Rock.” 


THE  MURDER  OF  OLD  UNCLE  PETER  JOHN- 
SON OF  COMANCHE  COUNTY. 

In  the  year  1858  old  Uncle  Peter  Johnson,  who 
was  a very  early  settler  in  Comanche  County,  was  on 
his  way  to  mill  (he  had  to  go  to  Meridian  Mills,  in 
Bosque  County)  to  have  some  wheat  ground,  having 
to  camp  out  several  nights  on  the  trip,  he  took  his 
little  boy  with  him.  The  boy  was  eleven  years  old. 
His  name  was  Peter  also — named  for  his  father.  Just 
as  they  were  passing  a little  round  mountain  between 
Leon  and  Bosque  Creeks,  a party  of  Indians  charged 
on  them  and  killed  the  old  man.  He  was  working  a 
yoke  of  oxen.  The  Indians  shot  one  of  the  steers  in 
order  to  stop  the  wagon,  so  they  could  kill  and  scalp 
the  old  man.  (I  will  state  just  here  that  this  killing 
of  Mr.  Johnson  is  what  gave  name  to  the  mountain  of 
Johnson  Peak.)  After  killing  and  scalping  the  old 
man,  they  took  Peter,  junior,  the  eleven-year-old  boy 
and  carried  him  off.  I think  it  was  about  ten  days 


—94— 


that  the  boy  was  out.  He  wandered  around  in  the 
woods  until  he  was  very  nearly  starved.  The  In- 
dians tried  to  make  him  eat  raw  meat  like  they  did, 
but  he  would  not  eat  it.  It  is  supposed  they  turned 
him  loose  when  they  saw  that  they  could  not  make 
an  Indian  of  him.  When  they  turned  him  loose  they 
gave  him  a piece  of  an  old  dirty  blanket.  The 
weather  was  very  cold,  the  little  fellow  knew  not 
which  way  to  go  to  find  a house.  One  day  he  heard 
a bell  and  went  to  it,  the  bell  was  on  a cow,  there 
were  a few  head  of  cattle  there.  The  boy  had  heard 
his  father  say  that  if  anyone  was  lost  and  would  fol- 
low a milk  cow  that  she  would  take  him  to  a house, 
So  he  started  the  cattle  and  was  trying  to  keep  after 
them,  but  being  so  weak  and  worn  out,  he  could  not 
keep  up  with  the  cattle  .There  were  three  or  four 
men  out  on  a cow  hunt  one  day  after  all  hope  of  ever 
hearing  of  the  little  fellow  was  given  up.  The  cow 
hunters  saw  at  a distance  an  object  moving  around 
and  it  attrcated  their  attention.  They  turned  and 
made  to  it  and  found  it  was  the  little  boy  the  In- 
dians had  captured.  He  was  so  weak  and  so  near 
starved  to  death  that  he  did  not  seem  to  know  any- 
thing. One  of  the  men  took  the  boy  and  set  him  in 
the  front  part  of  his  saddle,  so  he  could  hold  him  on 
the  horse  and  they  carried  him  to  Stephenville,  which 
was  about  ten  or  twelve  miles.  They  had  some  cold 
biscuits  in  their  provision  wallets.  They  gave  him 
one  when  they  found  him ; he  ate  on  it  all  the  way  to 
Stephenville  and  had  not  gotten  it  all  eaten  when 
they  reached  the  town.  He  was  so  weak  he  could  not 
hold  his  head  up.  There  was  a good  man  there,  I 


— 95 — 


wish  I could  give  his  name,  though  not  knowing  him 
personally  I have  forgotten  it,  that  cared  for  the  boy, 
had  a doctor  to  treat  him  until  he  regained  his 
strength  and  got  alright.  His  mind  also  got  alright 
as  his  strength  returned.  This  boy  grew  up  to  man- 
hood and  made  a good  citizen  of  Comanche  County, 
die  died  near  Gustine,  in  this  County,  eight  months 
ago.  He  had  one  brother  older  than  himself,  Rev. 
Jesse  Johnson,  now  living  near  Gustine.  A white 
man  and  a negro  were  killed  about  ten  miles  below 
Johnson  Peak,  on  the  north  side  of  Leon  River,  the 
same  day  that  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  killed. 
This  murder  was  supposed  to  have  been  done  by  the 
same  party  of  Indians. 


THE  KILLING  OF  MRS.  WILLIAMS. 

In  the  year  1873  a family  by  the  name  of  Wil- 
liams was  living  on  Sand  Creek  about  three  miles 
southwest  of  Thrifty.  Early  one  morning  while  the 
men-folks  were  up  on  the  creek  after  a load  of  raft- 
ers Mrs.  Williams  was  out  at  the  cow  lot  milking  the 
cows.  She  took  with  her  a little  girl  about  seven 
years  old.  and  the  baby,  about  ten  months  old.  The 
morning  being  rather  cold  she  made  a little  brush 
fire  for  the  children  to  sit  by,  and  while  at  the  cow 
lot  was  surprised  by  a party  of  Indians,  who  shot 
her  full  of  arrows.  When  they  though  she  was  dead 
they  took  the  baby  and  dragged  it  through  the  fire, 
burning  it  until  they  thought  it  would  die,  then  left, 


-96- 


taking  the  little  girl  away  with  them.  The  place 
where  this  tragedy  occurred  was  known  as  the  hog 
ranch  of  W.  N.  and  Zack  Adams,  but  is  now  known  as 
the  Baker  place.  After  the  Indians  had  left,  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams yet  had  life  enough  to  dress  the  little  baby  that 
was  so  badly  burned,  but  she  died  in  a few  minutes 
after.  In  a short  time  her  son  came  home  and  found 
his  mother  murdered  and  the  litle  baby  badly  burn- 
ed. The  baby  was  taken  to  John  Mullins’ and  kept 
for  about  ten  days,  when  it  died  and  was  buried  with 
its  mother. 

R.  Y.  Cross,  W.  N.  Adams  and  about  fifteen  oth- 
er men  whose  names  I cannot  recall  just  now,  headed 
by  R.  Y.  Cross,  took  the  Indian  trail  and  followed 
them  several  days,  though  they  never  overtook  them. 
The  little  girl  that  the  Indians  carried  off  was  found 
hanging  to  a limb  of  a tree  on  Double  Mountain  Fork 
of  the  Brazos  River,  two  hundred  miles  northwest  of 
Brownwood.  The  little  girl’s  grave  is  near  the  pres- 
ent town  of  Clarmont.  This  was  among  the  last  of 
the  Indian  troubles  in  this  part  of  the  country. 


SALT  CREEK  FIGHT— 1859  OR  ’60. 

Someone  from  the  Newburg  Settlement  was  out 
southwest  from  Newburg,  close  to  the  mountains, 
and  discovered  three  Indians  driving  a bunch  of 
horses,  twenty-five  or  thirty  head,  (which  were  stolen 
in  Hamilton  County.)  He  ran  to  Cunningham’s 
ranch  and  gave  the  alarm.  Old  Capt.  Cunningham, 


—97— 


who  was  ever  ready  for  any  emergency,  summoned  a 
squad  of  men,  six  besides  himself,  named  as  follows : 
Aaron  Cunningham,  David  Cunningham,  R.  T.  Cun- 
ningham, J.  V.  Cunningham,  Alex  Tuggle  and  Jay 
Hugh  Chism.  This  party  took  their  trail  and  follow- 
ed it  until  night  overtook  them  near  Logan’s  Gap. 
They  camped  near  where  Whitville  is  now.  In  some 
way  they  got  ahead  of  the  Indians.  Some  time  in 
the  morning,  probably  about  4 o’clock,  the  Indians 
came  by  the  camp.  David  Cunningham  was  on  horse 
guard  and  hearing  them  pass,  quietly  drove  the 
horses  back  to  camp  and  woke  the  men.  They  sad- 
dled their  horses  and  waited  for  daylight,  then 
went  out  to  where  he  had  heard  them  pass  and  took 
the  trail,  and  following  it  about  three  miles  came 
up  with  them,  eating  breakfast  near  Salt  Mountain. 
It  being  a dark,  foggy  morning  they  got  very  elose 
before  the  Indians  discovered  them.  Two  of  the  In- 
dians ran  and  bridled  a horse  and  made  their  escape; 
the  third  Indian  bridled  an  iron-gray  mare,  which 
was  a lady’s  saddle  animal.  He  mounted  her  bare- 
back  but  she  threw  him  off;  he  mounted  her  aga:n 
and  she  threw  him  off  the  second  time.  By  this  time 
David  Cunningham  got  within  very  elose  range  and 
shot  him  down.  After  wounding  him  three  or  four 
times,  Aaron  C.  gave  him  the  death  shot,  but  had  a 
close  call  himself,  for  the  Indian  was  within  a few 
feet  of  him  with  his  arrow  drawn.  Aaron  said  it 
was  a matter  of  compulsion  with  him — he  had  it  to 
do.  They  recovered  all  the  horses  except  the  one  the 
two  Indians  rode  off,  and  would  have  gotten  it  also 
had  it  not  been  for  the  fog. 


"#8 — 

BROWN’S  CREEK  FIGHT. 


Along  in  the  year  1866  or  1867  the  Indians  came 
into  the  town  of  Comanche  after  horses.  They  were 
first  discovered  in  the  lot  of  Fletcher  Neeley,  trying 
to  catch  a pair  of  mules.  An  Indian  got  on  one  of 
the  mules  and  it  threw  him  off.  The  noise  the  In- 
dian and  mules  made  awakened  Bill  Cunningham, 
who  was  boarding  with  Mr.  Neeley.  He  rushed  out 
and  exclaimed:  “Look  out  for  your  horses;  the  In- 

dians are  getting  ours.”  Then  he  ran  down  to  Un- 
cle Jack  Nabors’  and  told  them.  Uncle  Jack’s 
daughters,  Mary  Ann  and  Fanny,  got  up  and  pre- 
pared breakfast.  All  the  Indian  fighters  in  town 
moulded  bullets  and  got  their  horses  ready  for  the 
early  morning  fight.  At  daylight  twelve  men  found 
the  trail  at  or  near  the  place  where  Hilton  Burk’s 
new  house  has  just  been  finished.  The  trail  led  out 
southwest,  past  where  Wm.  Reese’s  residence 
now  stands,  it  crossed  Indian  Creek  just  west  of 
the  Brownwood  Bridge,  and  crossed  Dry  Hollow  a 
quarter  of  a mile  above  where  John  Farmer  now 
lives.  They  then  crossed  Mercer  Creek  where 
Brushy  Gap  road  now  crosses,  and  went  on  south  in 
the  direction  of  Potato  Hill  Mountain.  The  twelve 
men  waited  at  this  mountain  for  five  more  men  and  a 
pack  of  bloodhounds  that  were  coming  from  Capt. 
James  Cunningham’s  ranch.  After  traveling  about 
one-half  mile  up  the  San  Saba  road  the  men  struck 
the  Indians’  trail  and  put  the  dogs  on  it.  On  the 
trail  the  Indians  had  killed  a mare  belonging  to  Dick 
Kiser,  further  on  they  killed  a beef  and  took  what 


—99— 


they  wanted  for  dinner.  One  of  the  hounds  got  too 
far  ahead  and  flustrated  the  end.  They  left  their 
tempting  dinner  of  roast  beef  scattered  about  four 
miles  from  there.  The  squad  came  up  with  them  at 
Brown  Creek,  in  Mills  County.  The  fight  opened  at 
two  o ’clock  and  lasted  until  dark.  During  the  fight 
three  Indians  were  shot  down,  but  other  Indians 
came  in  and  carried  them  off  on  horses.  The  fourth 
and  last  Indian  was  killed  by  Dave  Cunningham 
breaking  his  back  from  a distance  of  eighty  yards. 
The  scout  camped  here  for  the  night.  This  com- 
pany was  commanded  by  Capt.  James  Cunningham, 
and  consisted  of  seventeen  men,  namely:  David  Cun- 
ningham, Aaron  Cunningham,  Bill  and  Jim  Cunning- 
ham, Arthur,  James  and  Robert  Marshall,  R.  Kiser, 
T.  D.  Cargill,  Tom  Wright,  B.  S.  Hornsley,  Joel  Na- 
bors and  four  others  whose  names  I have  forgotten. 
Their  losses  were  one  dog  and  one  horse  killed,  and 
Capt.  Cunningham  was  shot  in  the  finger.  The  In- 
dians numbered  some  seventeen  or  eighteen. 


SANTA  ANNA  MOUNTAINS. 

These  mountains,  a few  miles  south  of  old  Camp 
Colorado  post,  were  used  by  the  soldiers  that  were 
first  stationed  at  Camp  Colorado,  for  spy  mountains. 
This  was  a noted  place  for  Indians  to  pass  as  long 
as  they  depradated  in  this  country.  In  1863  a 
company  of  Confederate  soldiers  were  stationed  at 


—100- 


Colorado  Post;  this  was  the  company  to  which  I be- 
longed, and  when  the  Indians  would  slip  down  in  the 
settlements  and  steal  horses  the  people  would  send  a 
runner  to  our  camp  and  we  would  send  a party  out 
to  those  mountains  to  spy  out  for  them.  We  would 
always  station  the  men  at  a secreted  place  as  near  the 
mountain  as  possible,  and  then  place  a spy  on  top  of 
the  mountain  to  watch  for  the  Indians.  A man  on 
one  of  those  mountains  could  see  a bunch  of  horse- 
men a long  way  off.  When  the  man  on  the  moun- 
tain discovered  Indians  coming  he  would  watch  them 
until  he  could  tell  which  side  of  the  mountain  they 
were  going  on,  then  he  would  go  down  to  the  other 
men  and  tell  them  which  side  of  the  mountains  the 
Indians  were  starting  for,  and  the  whites  knew  just 
how  and  where  to  make  the  fight.  The  Indians  hard- 
ly ever  passed  those  mountains  without  losing  all  the 
stock  they  had  stolen  except  the  horses  they  were 
riding.  Often  Indians  were  shot  and  badly  wounded 
but  very  few  were  ever  killed  outright  at  or  near 
Santa  Anna  Mountain.  The  only  reason  I can  give 
for  their  lucky  escape,  is  that  they  would  always, 
when  passing  out  with  stolen  horses,  ride  the  very 
best  horses  they  had  in  the  herd,  and  just  outride  the 
white  men  I remember  one  fight  that  Lieutenant 
Chandler,  of  Capt.  J.  J.  Cullen’s  company,  had  at 
Santa  Anna  Mountain.  Chandler  had  about  six  men 
with  him,  he  was  not  spying  from  the  mountain  but 
when  just  passing  by  and  near  the  mountain  ran 
right  into  a bunch  of  Comanches.  Neither  party  had 
seen  the  other  until  they  were  right  in  gun-shot.  The 
Indians  outnumbered  the  whites  about  two  to  one. 


—101— 


This  was  one  of  the  best  fights  our  boys  ever  made. 
They  re-captured  all  the  stolen  horses,  about  thirty 
head,  and  wounded  several  Indians,  two  of  which 
were  afterwards  found  buried  on  the  trail.  The 
whites  never  got  a man  wounded,  only  two  of  their 
horses  got  arrows  shot  into  them  and  they  were  not 
badly  hurt. 

Salt  Mountain  is  a little  mountain  on  the  east 
side  of  Brown  County,  about  five  miles  from  the  up- 
per line  of  Comanche  Comity.  It  was  the  most  noted 
place  for  Indian  fighting  of  any  in  the  state.  From 
the  time  this  country  began  to  settle,  until  the  In- 
dians were  driven  out  entirely,  there  were  several 
fights  and  a number  of  them  were  killed  at  or  near 
this  Salt  Mountain.  I have  never  seen  any  account 
of  the  first  killing  on  this  noted  battle  ground  and  as 
my  object  in  writing  this  book  is  to  give  the  very 
earliest  happenings  of  our  country,  I will  tell  of  the 
first  Indian  fight  near  this  place. 

In  the  first  settling  of  Lampasas  County  there 
was  a family  living  in  the  community  of  the  town  of 
Lampasas  by  the  name  of  Mullins.  Old  Uncle  Char- 
ley Mullins  had  three  boys,  who  have  been  spoken  of 
previously  in  this  book,  whose  names  were  Ike,  Bill 
and  John.  John  is  the  only  one  of  the  boys  now  liv- 
ing. In  about  the  year  1854,  as  well  as  I can  re- 
member, they  moved  their  cattle  and  horses  out  on 
the  head  of  Brown’s  Creek,  near  where  the  town  of 
Mullin  is  now,  in  Mills  County.  There  they  built  a 
cabin  and  made  stock  pens  some  forty  miles  above 
all  settlements.  Having  the  largest  stock  of  horses, 
they  were  visited  by  the  Indians  more  frequently 


—102— 


than  the  smaller  ranches  further  down  the  country. 
They  only  kept  three  or  four  hands  to  look  after  and 
attend  to  both  horses  and  cattle.  The  Indians  came 
in  one  night,  rounded  up  a few  head  of  their  horses, 
and  got  off  with  them  just  before  day-light.  When 
the  boys  saw  where  they  had  started  with  the 
horses  they  saddled  some  others  and  took  the  trail. 
Being  well  mounted  they  soon  came  in  sight  of  the 
Indians.  There  were  only  three  of  the  Indkns  and 
when  they  saw  the  boys  after  them  they  left  the 
stolen  horses,  all  but  those  they  were  riding,  and 
pulled  for  the  thickets  around  Salt  Mountain,  where 
the  boys  ran  onto  them.  The  Indians  dismounted 
and  took  to  the  brush.  Ike  Mullins  found  one  of 
them  hidden  behind  a big  rock ; the  Indian  saw  he 
was  discovered  and  sprang  up  to  shoot  at  Mullins, 
but  Uncle  Ike  got  in  his  work  with  a six-shooter 
first,  killing  the  Indian  dead.  This  was  the  first  In- 
dian killed  at  Salt  Mountain  by  a white  man  that  we 
have  any  account  of. 


THE  HOG  CREEK  FIGHT  IN  1869  OR  1870. 

Colonel  Wm.  Stone  and  Capt.  James  Homesley 
started  a couple  of  wagons  loaded  with  wheat  to  San 
Saba  Mills.  The  wagons  were  driven  by  F.  M. 
Brown  and  Geo.  Wallace,  accompanied  by  Bush  Gris- 
som, leaving  Comanche  and  traveling  until  near  sun- 
down they  came  to  the  Mustang  Water  Hole  on 


—103- 


Mountain  Creek.  There  they  met  John  Roach  and 
stopped  for  a few  minutes’  talk,  as  men  always  did 
in  those  days,  and  while  they  were  engaged  in  their 
conversation,  being  near  the  foot  of  a mountain,  they 
were  surrounded  by  a band  of  forty  or  fifty  redskins. 
Capt.  Roach,  who  was  a Confederate  soldier  and  used 
to  warfare,  had  the  wagons  corralled  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Then  he  began  cutting  the  horses  loose 
from  the  wagons,  and  moving  the  drivers,  telling 
them  to  get  away.  The  horse  Capt.  Roach  was  rid- 
ing was  about  ridden  down,  so  he  took  a little  mule 
from  one  of  the  wagons,  and  proceeded  to  make  his 
escape.  One  Indian  followed  him  for  one-half  a mile 
shooting  both  Roach  and  the  mule.  During  the 
fight  at  the  wagons  Frank  Brown  killed  one  Indian 
and  Brown  was  slightly  wounded  in  the  face  and 
arm;  Geo.  Wallace  received  a slight  wound  in  the 
arm.  Roach’s  mule  carried  him  about  four  miles 
from  the  wagons  to  the  Watson  Spring,  and  while 
stopping  there  for  water  the  mule  died.  Roach  walk- 
ed two  miles  further  to  the  Campbell  ranch  with  an 
arrow  in  his  left  lung.  He  was  so  weak  from  loss  of 
blood  when  he  reached  the  creek  bank  near  the  ranch 
house  he  could  go  no  further.  A negro  living  at  the 
ranch  heard  Roach  groaning,  and  went  and  carried 
him  to  the  house.  Wallace,  Grissom  and  Brown  ar- 
rived at  Comanche  that  night  and  spread  the  alarm. 
A company  of  twelve  men  were  on  the  warpath  next 
morning,  starting  a scout,  meaning  to  intercept  the 
Indians  at  the  mountains,  but  failed  to  do  so  and  re- 
turned to  where  the  fight  at  the  wagons  occurred. 
When  they  arrived  at  the  wagons  they  found  Dave 


■104— 


Cunningham  and  five  others;  he  and  his  five  men 
having  followed  the  Indians  that  morning  and  had 
come  up  with  them  on  the  head  of  Pompey  Creek, 
bxxt  the  Indians  were  too  much  for  them  and  they  had 
returned  to  carry  the  wagons  back  to  the  ranch  and 
get  the  bloodhounds  arid  more  men.  The  next  morn- 
ing about  4 o’clock  the  trail  was  again  taken  up. 
After  following  the  trail  for  fifteen  miles  they  found 
where  the  Indians  had  camped,  and  buried  one  of 
their  number.  Passing  this  up  they  followed  the 
trail  some  fifteen  miles  further  and  came  upon  the 
Indians  in  camp  on  Hog  Creek,  in  Brown  County. 
The  dogs  had  been  taken  from  the  trail  a few  miles 
back,  as  the  men  could  run  the  trail  without  them, 
so  no  noise  was  being  made.  Leaving  the  mountain 
and  getting  down  on  smooth  ground  Capt.  Dave 
Cunningham  had  his  men  form  a line  and  charge  be- 
fore the  Indians  hardly  knew  they  were  there.  The 
Indians  scatered  in  every  direction,  some  mounting 
and  some  going  afoot.  There  were  seven  Indians 
killed  in  this  fight  and  the  company’s  loss  was  one 
man  killed  and  one  horse.  Freeman  Clark  was  kill- 
ed and  Joel  Nabors  got  his  horse  killed  and  one  of 
the  blood  hounds  was  killed.  This  scout  was  com- 
manded by  Capt.  Dave  Cunningham,  with  nineteen 
men,  as  follows:  S.  H.  Powers,  J.  J.  Johnson,  John 

Albin,  W.  Cox,  Ed.  Roach,  John  Stevens,  Bill  Ross, 
James  Tunnell,  Tom  Jones,  Lark  Stone,  Jeff  Nabors, 
Bill  Cunningham,  Joe  Cunningham,  J.  M.  Millican, 
Freeman  Clark,  Joe  Gurley,  Ike  Ward,  D.  P.  Pinkard 
and  one  whose  name  I have  forgotten. 

Everything  the  Indians  had  was  captured  by  the 
scout,  also  eight  head  of  horses. 


-105- 


In  the  early  spring  of  1870  the  Indians  made  a 
stealing  raid  in  Bell  County  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Young’s  Fort.  There  were  four  Indians  in  the  bunch 
and  they  secured  fourteen  head  of  saddle  horses,  or 
thirteen  horses  and  one  mule ; killed  one  mare  be- 
longing to  Uncle  Dee  Lane,  being  unable  to  either 
catch  or  drive  her,  they  shot  her  and  left  her  lying 
with  the  arrow  in  her  within  five  hundred  yards  of 
the  house.  They  got  the  mule  out  of  old  Parson 
Henry  Casper’s  lot.  It  was  locked  by  a chain  around 
its  neck  and  the  other  end  around  a snag  of  a limb 
which  had  been  blown  off  some  three  or  four  feet 
above  where  it  forked  from  the  tree,  they  slipped  the 
loop  up  until  they  pushed  it  over  the  end  of  the  snag 
and  got  off  with  the  mule.  Its  mate  was  locked 
around  the  body  of  the  tree  and  they  could  not  get 
it.  When  the  news  got  out  next  morning  a posse  of 
eleven  men  got  together  to  follow  the  Indians.  These 
were  Mr.  Tumbaugh,  Will  Cathey,  Milt  Parker,  Don 
Tankersley,  Tuck  Boone,  Jake  Casper,  Jack  Wilcox, 
Abe  Ray,  Dock  Casper,  Hiram  Teague  and  my  broth- 
er, G.  B.  Cross  of  Brownwood.  These  men  got 
mounts  and  started  about  11  o’clock  in  the  morning, 
but  the  Indians  had  evidently  scattered  out  some 
yards  apart  in  order  to  avoid  being  trailed,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  make  any  headway  following  them. 
So  the  men  decided  they  would  ride  straight  ahead 
for  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  and  probably  would  find 
where  they  had  gathered  more  horses  and  could  trail 
them  better.  When  they  reached  where  Coperas 
Cove  now  is,  finding  no  sign  on  the  north  side  of  the 
mountains  they  returned  and  went  due  south  through 


— 106 — 


the  gap.  When  on  the  south  side  of  the  range  of 
mountains  they  struck  the  trail  of  the  Indians,  evi- 
dently driving  the  horses,  as  some  ropes  were  drag- 
ging. The  Indians  were  at  that  time  only  about  one 
mile  from  them,  on  the  mountain,  where  they  had  re- 
mained all  day,  waiting  to  make  another  haul  when 
night  came  on,  as  there  was  a thick  settlement  a few 
miles  away,  on  the  Lampasas  Kiver.  Having  a spy  , 
on  the  edge  of  the  mountain  they  discovered  our  men 
had  struck  their  trail  and  would  soon  be  on  them ; 
pulled  up  camp  and  left  in  a full  run.  When  down 
in  the  level  prairie  the  wily  Indians  scattered  out 
some  yards  apart,  leading  or  riding  all  the  horses, 
and  the  grass  being  high  and  dry  it  was  impossible  to 
trail  faster  than  a walk;  the  Indians  running  and 
having  at  least  three-fourths  of  an  hour  the  start,  it 
was  useless  to  follow  their  trail.  Brother  and  some 
others  in  the  crowd  having  followed  the  Indian  trails 
out  before,  knew  the  route  they  would  go  for  twenty 
miles  or  more,  and  they  decided  to  make  a straight 
run  for  points  twenty  miles  ahead.  In  so  doing  they 
frequently  came  onto  the  trail.  Jake  Casper  was 
riding  the  mate  to  the  mule  the  Indians  had  stolen ; 
this  animal,  when  it  came  to  its  mate’s  trail,  would 
put  its  nose  to  the  ground  and  follow  like  a dog  for 
some  distance,  then  raise  his  head  and  bray.  This 
twenty-mile  run  was  through  practically  open  coun- 
try, with  scattering  small  hills  and  groves  here  and 
there.  They  reached  a chain  of  mountains  and  stay- 
ed close  to  it,  keeping  on  the  north  side.  The  boys 
reached  those  mountains  about  half  an  hour  before 
sundown  and  where  the  Indians  had  crossed  one  of 


— 107 — 


those  little  streams  running  down  from  the  mountain 
the  bank  was  so  wet  it  look  as  if  they  had  not  been 
gone  ten  minutes.  Two  of  the  boys’  horses  gave  out 
at  this  point,  and  one  man  was  suffering  witn  a pain 
in  his  side,  so  they  had  to  leave  them.  These  were 
Mr.  Tumbaugh,  Will  Cathey  and  Abel  Ray.  The 
other  eight  began  to  crowd  their  horses  to  the  limit, 
knowing  that  what  they  did  must  be  done  in  the  next 
hour,  as  it  would  be  dark  by  that  time,  and  the  men 
had  no  provisions  for  themselves  or  food  for  their 
horses,  and  there  was  nobody  living  within  miles 
that  they  knew  of.  During  the  next  four  or  five 
miles  of  the  run  four  more  horses  Avere  failing  and 
the  other  four  had  to  leave  them.  This  left  only 
Jack  Wilcox.  Dock  Casper,  Hiram  Teague  and  G.  B. 
Cross  .They  whipped  through  some  four  miles  fur- 
ther. when  tAvo  of  their  horses  gave  out,  leaAdng  only 
Hiram  Teague  and  my  brother  in  the  chase.  By  the 
time  the  large  stars  were  showing  these  tAvo  caught  a 
glimpse  through  the  scattering  timber  of  what  they 
made  sure  Avere  the  Indians,  and  made  a hard  run 
across  a post  oak  flat  to  the  open  prairie,  when  they 
reached  it,  however,  nothing  was  in  sight  for  a mile 
ahead.  It  Avas  bright  moonlight  and  they  Avere  satis- 
fied the  Indians  had  seen  they  Avere  gaining  fast  and 
had  taken  to  the  roughs  of  the  mountains  Avhich  lay 
just  on  the  left.  The  two  Avaited  a few  minutes, 
when  they  were  joined  by  Dock  Casper  and  Jack 
Wilcox,  and  a little  later  the  other  four,  that  had 
last  dropped  out,  came  up.  Teague  and  my  brother 
told  the  boys  what  they  had  seen  and  they  also  be- 
lieved the  Indians  had  taken  to  the  mountains,  Jack 


—108— 


Pht^per  said:  “We’ll  see  if  we  are  right  or  not,” 

and  began  to  ride  old  Pete  around  and  in  a few  min- 
utes Pete  put  his  head  to  the  ground  and  started 
right  up  the  mountain,  braying;  so  all  were  satisfied 
that  the  Indians  had  seen  us  following  and  had  avoid- 
ed our  seeing  them  by  keeping  some  little  mound  or 
3 grove  of  timber  between  them  and  us.  Being  with- 
out forage  for  our  horses  or  anything  to  eat  our- 
selves and  knowing  the  Indians  would  get  a long 
start  of  us,  we  turned  back  for  home,  traveling  un- 
til ten  o’clock  in  the  night  before  we  found  any  house 
where  we  could  get  feed  for  our  horses  and  some- 
thing to  eat. 

This  was  about  the  last  stealing  raid  made  by 
the  Indians  into  Bell  County,  and  occurred  about  the 
last  of  February  or  the  first  of  March,  1870. 

My  brother  says  that  he  was  born  in  January, 
1849,  in  Bell  County,  which  was  then  the  frontier  of 
Texas,  and  had  lived  on  the  extreme  frontier  all  his 
life,  where  Indians  were  common  visitors  every  full 
moon  up  to  this  time,  and  that  he  had  always  had  a 
great  desire  to  get  in  a scrap  with  them,  and  thought 
sure  he  was  going  to  have  the  fun  that  evening;  but 
dark  came  too  quick.  Now  he  is  61  years  old  and 
more  considerate,  and  is  feeling  glad  be  did  not  catch 
up  with  the  red  rascals.  This  bit  of  history  I glean 
from  some  of  those  that  were  in  the  chase  and  many 
of  them  are  yet  living  who  can  vouch  for  the  story. 
Dan  Tankersley  lives  at  Killeen,  Bell  County;  Jake 
Casper  at  Young’s  Fort,  same  county;  Tuck  Boone 
lives  in  South  Texas,  I think  in  Blanco  County;  G. 
B.  Cross  in  Brownwood,  and  Will  Cathey  I think  is 
in  Bell  County  near  Young’s  Fort. 


—109— 


THE  DOTE  CREEK  FIGHT. 

This  fight  took  place  ©a  Dove  Greek  near  the 
month  of  South  Concho  River,  iter  ween  about  four 
hundred  Kick  a poo  Indians  and  a like  number  of 
whites.  It  was  particularly  notable  from  the  fact 
that  the  attack  was  made  by  the  whites  on  friendly 
Indians.  The  shedding  of  blood  on  that  occasion  was 
an  unfortunate  mistake  and  entirely  unnecessary. 
The  whites  had  been  driven  almost  beyond  endurance 
by  the  many  outrages  committed  by  the  Indians  on 
the  frontier,  and  were  in  a measure  excusable  for  not 
exercising  that  common  judgment  which  no  doubt 
would  have  prevented  the  light  and  its  serious  con- 
sequences. 

In  order  to  keep  from  taking  part  in  the  Civil 
War  those  Kickapoos  still  living  in  the  Indian  Terri- 
tory decided  to  move  to  Mexico,  and  started  thorugh 
Texas  with  their  families  to  the  Rio  Grande.  They 
were  followed  from  the  Clear  Fork  of  the  Brazos 
River  by  Confederate  Soldiers  who  were  reinforced 
by  detachments  of  home  guards  from  Brown  and 
other  counties. 

During  the  Civil  War  the  remote  frontier  coun- 
ties were  exempt  from  service  in  the  Confederate 
army  in  order  that  the  men  might  remain  at  home  to 
protect  the  frontier  against  Indians.  Brown  County 
was  one  of  this  class  of  counties  and  in  line  with  the 
others,  organized  a company  with  D.  H.  Moseley  as 
captain  and  Adison  Martin  as  lieutenant.  When  re- 
enforcements  were  asked  for  on  this  occasion  Brown 
County  was  drawn  on  for  fourteen  men  and  the  fol- 


— 110 — 


lowing  named  persons  were  sent  under  command  of 
Lieutenant  Martin:  B.  W.  Lee,  G.  H.  Adams,  A.  E. 
Adams,  John  P.  Brown,  James  G.  Connell,  R.  M. 
Hanna,  Sam  Hanna,  Isaac  Bradshaw,  P.  R.  Clark,  T. 
D.  Haines,  W.  B.  Chandler,  E.  D.  Carmack,  J.  Bal- 
linger, and  Henry  Jones. 

On  January  7th,  in  the  year  1865,  it 
was  reported  to  Captain  Taton,  who  was 
in  command  of  the  combined  forces,  that  the 
Indians  were  in  camp  on  Dove  Creek,  in  a dense 
thicket,  and  he  decided  that  night  that  the  attack 
should  take  place  the  following  morning.  B.  W.  Lee 
and  James  Mulkey,  who  were  Lieutenants  in.  Cap- 
tain Fossett’s  Company  at  Camp  Colorado,  both  of 
whom  had  considerable  knowledge  of  Indians’  hab- 
its. reconnoitered  the  Indian  Camp  on  their  own  ac- 
count the  night  before  the  fight,  and  on  their  return 
reported  to  the  officers  that  unmistakable  indications 
pointed  to  a camp  of  friendly  Indians  and  advised  in- 
vestigation. To  this  there  was  no  attention  paid. 
The  attack  was  made  next  morning  in  a pell-mell  but 
desperate  charge  which  was  repeated  time  and  again, 
with  heavy  loss,  but  they  could  not  dislodge  the  In- 
dians from  the  thicket.  The  fight  continued  the 
greater  part  of  the  day.  Late  in  the  evening  the 
whites  were  forced  to  withdraw  with  the  loss  of 
about  twenty  men  killed  and  several  others  wounded, 
some  of  whom  died  on  the  way  home.  The  Indian 
loss  was  fourteen  killed.  The  wounded  were  all 
carried  off.  When  the  fight  commenced  Martin  was 
ordered  by  Captain  Fossett  to  take  his  men  and  cap- 


— Ill— 


ture  the  Indians’  horses,  about  450  head.  This  was 
accomplished  with  a rush  and  with  the  horses  an  old 
Indian  and  two  Indian  boys,  about  12  and  13  years 
of  age,  were  taken.  Soon  after  the  capture  was  made 
one  of  the  officers  and  some  of  the  men  rode  up  and 
gave  orders  that  Indians  must  not  be  taken  alive. 
The  old  Indian  was  immediately  shot  to  death  and 
the  two  boys  would  have  shared  the  same  fate  had  it 
not  been  that  one  of  the  men  interfered  with  a posi- 
tiveness that  left  no  room  for  misunderstanding,  and 
told  the  officer  that  he  would  not  permit  the  murder 
of  these  boys.  The  little  Indian  boys  understood  the 
situation  and  they  clung  to  this  man  until  he  saw  a 
chance  for  them  to  escape.  Under  his  direction  they 
made  a dash  for  liberty,  and  when  last  seen  were  en- 
tering the  Indian  lines.  The  whites  camped  that 
night  about  two  miles  from  the  battle  ground,  leav- 
ing their  dead  on  the  battle  ground.  A very  heavy 
snow  fell  that  night  and  it  continued  to  snow  all  the 
next  day,  the  weather  was  intensely  cold,  causing 
great  suffering  among  the  wounded.  The  second 
day  the  camp  was  moved  a short  distance  and  some 
of  the  men  went  back  to  bury  the  dead.  The  Indians 
left  soon  after  the  fight  was  over,  leaving  all  their 
equipage.  I don’t  know  how  many  of  our  brave 
boys  are  resting  under  the  sod  near  the  Dove  Creek 
battle  ground.  Comanche  men  went  out  and  brought 
their  dead  to  Comanche  and  buried  them,  two  as 
good  and  as  brave  men  as  Comanche  ever  lost  in  any 
battle.  They  were  Mr.  Don  Cox  and  Mr.  Parker. 
Our  company  that  was  at  Camp  Colorado  lost  one 


— 112- 


young  man  by  the  name  of  Wiley.  He  was  the 
last  man  killed.  The  whites  had  left  the  battle 
ground  and  were  pulling  back  for  the  place  where 
they  had  camped  the  night  before.  When  this  young 
man  Wiley,  and  two  other  boys  that  had  lost  their 
horses  in  the  fight,  and  were  on  foot,  sat  down  to  rest 
a while  at  a distance  of  four  or  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  enemy,  the  Indians  fired  a volley  at  the 
whites  as  they  left  with  their  long  range  guns  and  a 
bullet  passed  through  Mr.  Wiley’s  head,  killing  him 
instantly. 

There  was  a man  living  at  Camp  Colorado  by 
the  name  of  Joe  Byers,  a bachelor,  who  stayed  the 
most  of  his  time  with  Mart  Childress.  lie  had  no 
hair  on  his  head — had  lost  his  hair  from  some  cause 
when  he  was  young,  but  he  wore  a wig  that  looked 
like  a fine  head  of  hair.  He  was  killed  in  this  fight 
and  when  they  went  back  to  bury  the  dead  they 
found  Joe  Byers  with  his  head  cut  off,  laying  eight 
or  ten  feet  from  his  body.  I suppose  having  no  scalp 
for  them  they  thought  they  would  cut  his  head  off. 

The  country  suffered  more  from  Indians  after 
the  war,  until  they  were  entirely  driven  out,  than  it 
did  from  1846  up  to  the  war.  The  cause  of  the  red 
men  doing  so  much  more  depredating  and  being 
more  hostile  was  due  to  the  fact  that  they  had  so 
many  white  men  with  them  to  encourage  and  plan 
for  them.  During  the  war  a great  many  emigrants 
from  the  old  states  came  to  Texas  from  both  north 
and  south  in  order  to  keep  out  of  the  war  and  finding 
the  frostier  of  Texas  with  so  few  men  to  protect  it, 


1 13— 


and  so  much  stock,  and  so  many  families  with  no  men 
folks  large  enough  to  protect  them,  those  Jay-hawk- 
ers  as  they  were  called,  could  not  stand  the  tempta- 
tion, so  they  began  to  fall  in  with  the  Indians  and 
furnish  them  arms  and  ammunition.  These  bad 
white  men  would  come  right  into  the  settlements 
and  spy  out  the  best  place  to  make  their  raid  and 
then  fall  back  to  the  Indian  camp  and  instruct  them 
just  how  to  make  the  round  and  not  be  seen.  So  the 
Indians  would  get  a bunch  of  horsse  and  get  out 
often  without  being  discovered.  Those  white  men 
would  lay  out  until  the  Indians  got  the  stolen  horses 
far  enough  away  for  there  to  be  no  possible  chance  to 
be  overtaken,  and  then  take  the  horses  on  to  Mexico 
and  sell  them  and  buy  ammunition  and  supplies,  and 
thus  furnish  the  Indians  with  equipment  for  another 
raid. 

Now  this  may  seem  like  a supposition  of  the 
writer,  about  how  this  Jay-hawking  was  managed, 
but  men  who  were  on  the  frontier  of  this  state  in 
those  days  know  it  to  be  a fact.  Before  the  war  five 
men  could  face  thirty  Indians  and  put  them  to  flight, 
they  had  nothing  but  bows  and  arrows  to  use  in  bat- 
tle. but  after  the  war  they  were  as  well  armed  as  the 
whites.  This  is  one  evidence  that  the  white  thieves 
worked  with  them,  but  a more  positive  evidence  is 
that  on  several  occasions  white  men  had  been  seen 
with  them. 


114 — 


THE  QUANTRELL  GANGS. 

The  Quantrell  men,  who  made  several  raids  into 
Texas  about  the  close  of  the  war,  were  parties  who 
had  left  the  old  states  and  drifted  onto  the  frontier. 
They  were  in  most  eases  deserters  from  the  army 
and  were  led  by  a man  by  the  name  of  Quantrell.  In 
Arkansas  they  made  up  a considerable  company, 
picking  up  all  the  hard  customers  they  met  who  want- 
ed to  get  over  into  Mexico.  When  they  reached  the 
Texas  line  they  divided  up  into  squads,  ten  or  fifteen 
in  a bunch,  going  through  the  Western  part  of  the 
state.  They  knew  that  the  men  were  about  all  away 
with  the  army  and  that  they  could  pick  up  all  the 
good  horses  they  could  find  on  the  way,  and  get 
through  to  the  border  without  being  disturbed  in  the 
transaction.  They  would  have  a good  stake  when 
they  landed  in  Mexico  and  sold  the  horses  they  had 
gathered  up,  as  they  never  took  anything  but  the 
very  best  animals. 

One  small  bunch  of  these  men  came  through  Co- 
manche County  and  passed  Mr.  Watson’s  place  about 
ten  miles  west  of  the  town.  They  took  the  best 
horses  lie  had  and  went  from  there  over  into  San 
Saba  County,  and  were  traveling  up  the  San  Saba 
River  when  they  saw  a small  bunch  of  good  horses 
grazing  out  in  the  valley,  about  three  hundred  yards 
from  a house.  They  made  a round-up  and  began  to 
rope  them  in.  The  owner,  who  was  sick  in  bed,  sent 
his  little  boy  out  to  see  what  they  meant.  The  little 
boy  told  them  that  they  were  his  father’s  horses  and 
to  let  them  alone;  they  asked  him  his  father’s  name 


— 115 — 


and  he  told  them  it  was  Ketchup.  They  replied  with 
an  oath  that  he  would  never  ketch-up  with  his  horses, 
and  just  led  them  off. 

Some  time  after  that  another  squad  of  these 
Quantrell  men,  some  eighteen  in  number,  passed 
through  the  country,  following  much  the  same  trail. 
They  had  about  gotten  through  the  settlements  when 
they  were  seen  by  a man  in  the  upper  edge  of  Bur- 
net County.  lie  sent  a runner  to  Camp  San  Saba, 
and  Capt.  Cook  sent  a scout  out  who  struck  the  trail 
of  the  gang  in  the  upper  edge  of  Llano  County,  and 
followed  it  on  to  old  Port  McKavett,  where  they 
caught  up  with  them.  It  was  just  at  sundown  and 
they  had  made  camp.  They  all  sprang  to  their  feet 
and  ordered  the  scout  to  halt,  which  they  did  at  a 
distance  of  about  eighty  yards.  The  eighteen  men 
faced  thirty  of  the  soldiers  and  asked  them  what  they 
wanted.  The  officer  answered : “We  are  a scout  of 

soldiers  and  have  been  on  your  trail  three  days;  we 
want  to  investigate  your  business  in  this  country;” 
at  the  same  time  ordering  them  to  stack  their  arms. 
The  leader  of  the  gang  stepped  in  front  of  his  men 
and  said:  “If  you  are  Confederate  authority,  we 

will  surrender,  but  if  your  are  militia  we  will  die  at 
the  breech  of  our  guns.”  So  our  lieutenant  made 
out  that  he  was  a Confederate  officer,  and  that  if 
they  could  satisfy  Capt.  Cook  that  they  were  alright, 
they  would  be  turned  loose.  They  then  surrendered 
as  prisoners  and  were  brought  back  to  Camp  San 
Saba  and  kept  under  guard  for  eight  days.  They 
soon  discovered  after  getting  into  camp  that  they 
would  be  sent  to  Austin  and  turned  over  to  the  au- 


•116— 


thorities,  but  on  the  night  before  they  were  to  start, 
having  gotten  chummy  with  some  of  the  boys  who 
were  detailed  to  act  as  guard,  they  escaped  with 
their  help  and  reached  the  Mexican  border,  having 
had  several  hours  the  start  of  the  soldiers  who 
were  in  pursuit.  This  was  the  last  time  these  Quan- 
trell  men  were  ever  heard  of  in  Texas  and  it  was  the 
last  that  was  ever  heard  of  the  twro  soldiers  who  w«nt 
with  them. 


SOME  TROUBLES  IN  EARLY  DAYS. 

Soon  after  the  settling  of  Old  Cora,  in  Comanche 
County,  the  news  reached  there  that  a Ranger  Com- 
pany was  being  organized  in  Palo  Pinto  County, 
and  four  of  our  boys,  John  Triddle,  Thos.  Jeffers, 
Andrew  Steward  and  another  whose  name  I have 
forgotten,  decided  they  would  go  up  and  join  that 
Company.  About  the  time  they  were  ready  to 
start  two  men  came  to  Old  Cora  from  Williamson 
County,  one  named  Anderson  Kisor  and  another  by 
the  name  of  Talley,  who  said  they  were  on  their  way 
up  to  Palo  Pinto  to  have  a man  arrested  and  take 
him  back  to  Williamson  County  for  some  crime  he 
had  committed  down  there.  The  boys  told  these 
men  of  their  intention  of  going  up  to  join  the  Ran- 
ger Company,  and  they  suggested  that  as  the  coun- 
try was  practically  unsettled  and  there  was  constant 
danger  from  the  Indians,  that  they  all  go  together. 


117 — 


The  following  day  they  got  together  at  Comanche 
and  started  for  Palo  Pinto.  When  they  got  to  with- 
in three  or  four  miles  of  the  town  they  passed  a 
house  where  Kisor  and  Talley  said  they  thought 
the  man  they  wanted  lived,  and  they  suggested  it 
would  be  better  to  stop  and  get  dinner  as  there  was 
good  water  and  grass,  as  nearer  to  town  the  grass 
would  not  be  so  good  for  their  horses.  The  place 
where  they  stopped  was  about  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  house  they  had  just  passed  and  the  two  men 
said  that  they  would  walk  up  there  and  ascertain 
if  the  party  they  wanted  lived  there,  or  if  not,  where 
he  did  live.  So  the  boys  made  camp  and  had  begun 
preparations  for  dinner  when  they  heard  three  gun 
shots  in  the  direction  of  the  house  and  looking  up 
saw  Kisor  and  Talley  coming  towards  them  in  a run. 
This  excited  the  boys  in  camp  and  they  asked  the 
two  men  when  they  reached  them  what  was  the 
trouble,  they  replied  that  they  had  killed  that  old 
scoundrel  up  at  the  house  and  that  they  had  better 
get  away  from  there  without  delay.  The  boys  re- 
plied that  they  had  not  killed  anyone  and  had  no 
reason  to  run  off,  as  if  they  did.  they  would  be 
implicated  in  the  murder.  So  Kisor  and  Talley  left 
the  boys  to  hold  the  sack  and  no  one  has  ever  heard 
of  either  of  these  two  men  since. 

The  four  boys  went  on  towards  town,  intending 
to  report  the  circumstance,  but  a runner  had  already 
been  there  and  gotten  the  sheriff  and  a posse  to- 
gether, these  met  the  boys  as  soon  as  they  arrived 
and  arrested  them  and  took  their  arms  from  them. 
The  boys  told  their  story,  where  they  were  from  and 


—118 


all  they  knew  of  the  two  men  who  had  joined  them, 
giving  the  facts  of  the  whole  matter,  but  they  were 
young  and  had  never  before  been  in  any  such 
trouble,  and  having  no  friends  in  the  country  they 
failed  to  satisfy  the  sheriff,  and  he  took  them  and 
put  them  all  in  jail. 

The  boys  then  wrote  their  friends  in  Comanche 
County  of  their  trouble  and  the  sheriff  mailed  the 
letter  for  them  to  Comanche.  When  the  letter  ar- 
rived, Mr.  Mercer,  J.  T.  Neighbors,  Hiram  Barbee, 
and  my  father,  J.  M.  Cross,  went  up  to  help  the  boys 
out  of  their  trouble.  On  reaching  Palo  Pinto  they 
found  that  the  sheriff  and  some  of  the  other  County 
Officials  were  Free  Masons,  and  they  soon  became 
fraternally  known ; Barbee,  Mercer  and  my  father 
being  Masons.  This  fraternal  influence  was  a great 
help  in  getting  the  boys  an  immediate  trial  before 
the  Justice  of  the  Peace,  when  they  were  at  once 
acquitted  and  returned  home  with  their  friends. 

A younger  brother  of  the  writer’s,  0.  B.  Cross, 
now  residing  in  Brownwood,  has  since  told  me  that 
what  my  father  said  upon  his  return,  of  the  influ- 
ence that  Masonry  had  in  getting  these  boys  out  of 
jail,  made  a great  impression  on  him  even  though 
he  was  but  a very  small  boy  at  the  time. 


Date  Due 


976.4 

Cross 

C951S  461102 

f 

A short 

sketch-history  from 

■personal 

reminicences 

DATE 

ISSUED  TO 

976.4 


C951S 


431102 


